


Hunger

by Apherion



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Distrust, Drama, Dubious Consent, Eating Disorders, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mental Health Issues, OCs - Freeform, POV Third Person Limited, Physical Abuse, Slice of Life, Stripper-Mafia AU, Switches Between Viktor and Yuuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-09-06 20:48:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 38,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8768725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apherion/pseuds/Apherion
Summary: A dance, a glance, and a chance to change. We are all products for that which we hunger.





	1. Terms

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is. My first chapter to this multi-chapter fic. I don’t know how many chapters it will have yet. I am hoping to have that fleshed out better as I start work on chapter 2. Thank you for your support!
> 
> *Please be aware that this fic will only feature Viktor and Yuuri and a collection of OCs I’ve made for the purpose of this fic.

Viktor carefully judged as each performer sold a bit of their soul from the stage. He checked his watch, glancing over at Dmitry. He shrugged, settling into his seat and knocking back a shot of vodka. “I think ol’ Jasper’s losing his touch,” he muttered, flagging down one of the scantily clad boys for a refill.

Viktor leaned over so that his friend could hear him over the roar of the music. “I didn’t ask you to come.”

“You didn’t have to. Besides, it’s better not to come alone.” He had a point; strip clubs generally meant trouble, especially for Viktor. He looked at Dmitry sharply, who put up his hands defensively. “I know; you never start the fights.” It came with the territory of being a Nikiforov. He couldn’t just let things lie, regardless of the offense. Though, a year ago his uncle made him cut his hair, and the number of incidents decreased significantly.

“Vitya, are we done here? I’m bored,” Aleksei whined. Viktor glanced at his brother, ten years his junior and always involved with anything pertaining to Viktor. Irina was told she’d never have children, so when they found out about Aleksei, naturally, he wanted to be the big brother despite the fact that he was actually his cousin. He smiled fondly at him right as Dmitry pinched his arm, reprimanding,

“Kid, I told you it’d be boring.” Aleksei hissed, rubbing the spot on his shoulder and stuck out his tongue at him.

“Bear with it a moment more, Alek. I’m sure we’ll see what we’re supposed to, soon.”

This was how it went. For as long as Viktor could remember, Jasper had been infatuated with the performing arts, specifically ballet. He would find some diamond in the rough talent, and he’d send his favorite nephew out to have him validate his discovery. In return, Viktor often got to see performances that were unlike any other. The venue never seemed to matter, the subject could be anyone, and waiting a few hours to see one person was more common than not.

As unconventional as it was, it held a special place in Viktor’s heart. He was taken in when he was seven, after his parents died, and his uncle had instilled a fierce passion for the art. It was the first mature conversation he held with the man. It also gave them something to talk about other than the family business, which at times, could be a sensitive subject.

He turned back to the main stage as the next act was announced, sighing a little. These boys weren’t bad, necessarily, but none of them exhibited the usual flair of a recommendation from Jasper Nikiforov.

He raised his glass of single malt to his lips and nearly choked on it when an ingénue of a man waltzed into view on six inch heels. His hair flared up like a mass of black fire, a crystal clip winking in the low light amongst the tresses. He didn’t face the crowd, showing off his bare, porcelain back. Viktor sat up straighter in his chair, the noise of the club drifting away in his ears as his focus centered on this boy with alabaster skin.

His hands gripped the pole, and he dipped low, showing off the latticework strings that encased his arms. He stepped through, twisting fast and catching the pole at his back, his hands tracing over his ribs, up his chest to his throat. They gripped tightly, and his eyes widened as his pink tongue flicked over his glossy lips.

His fingertips deftly caressed his skin as they moved down his torso to the band of black, lacy shorts he wore. He looked out at the crowd, dark eyes hooded as he teased a peek at the sharp V of his hips. The lithe precision with which he slid his hands down his thighs, exposing and highlighting intimate curves as his hands guided his audience’s eyes. Viktor couldn’t look away. It was a remarkable sight that shouldn’t have had much of an effect on him, but the boy danced like a prima. He didn’t quietly ask for attention, he commanded it, narrating a story of desire with every inch of his body.

Dmitry nudged him, and Viktor blinked, his head hazy. “What?” He demanded, glancing from the stage to Dmitry then back to the stage. The boy had already disappeared.

“I didn’t know guys could move like that,” Aleksei muttered, wide-eyed and blushing. Viktor cleared his throat, adjusting how he sat to accommodate for the sudden discomfort he felt.

“Not many can,” Dmitry informed him. “It takes a lot of time and effort.”

“I believe it! I remember when Mama wanted me in gymnastics. I thought that I would break something when we stretched! It was a nightmare!”

“Enjoy it, did you?” He slipped in the aside while Aleksei spoke, giving Viktor a knowing look. Viktor didn’t respond, his mind already trying to work through a few scenarios.

“Don’t do anything that will get you thrown in jail,” Dmitry warned in an undertone. “Jasper will be pissed off if he has to pay off the cops again.” Viktor shot him a look that said ‘shut up’. They really weren’t supposed to talk shop in front of Aleksei, and it was a rule Viktor respected.

“Don’t worry about it,” he brushed him off.

“I _do_ worry about it!” He hissed back, obviously affronted. The most damage that would be done to Viktor for getting bailed out would be a bloodied face, but Dmitry would be lucky if it was just a broken bone or two.

“What are you two whispering about?” Aleksei asked suspiciously, eyes narrowing at them. Viktor kicked Dmitry under the table.

“Leaving,” Viktor deflected brightly, calmed down enough to stand without embarrassing himself. He stole the keys out of Dmitry’s front pocket, tossing them to the seventeen year-old. “And you’re driving!” Dmitry groaned and Aleksei squealed with delight, catching them and rushing out towards the car.

“I won’t do anything rash or illegal,” Viktor promised as he and Dmitry followed behind the exuberant teen. “Have a little faith!” Dmitry laughed, but nodded as they approached the car, Aleksei already behind the wheel.

 

True to his word, Viktor made a plan and didn’t deviate from it. He only visited a couple times a month, and he never spoke with anyone besides the bartender to order his drinks. It was easier this way, growing more fixated on the boy as time passed. Each time he returned to the club, he turned away the other boys that flirted with him while they refilled his drinks. Sometimes, the persistent ones would meet him outside, lighting his cigarette for him and making small talk. Viktor didn’t pursue them, simply studying each face and politely declining their offers.

He wasn’t supposed to stay late or try to talk to him, but it’d been a few months since he first came to see him. Dmitry’s going to kick my ass for this, he thought, lighting up outside while leaning against the door of his car, waiting for his obsession to wander outside. It was eerily quiet tonight, and the boy’s footsteps crunched on the gravel as he made his way to the front of the club, stepping into the alcove it created.

Viktor smirked to himself, inhaling the last bit of his cigarette before stomping it out on the ground. How lucky could a guy be? He ran a gloved hand through his silver hair before stalking with every ounce of cool confidence that he possessed towards his prey.

The boy seemed half frozen, spacing out with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his dark wash jeans. The waistband dipped because of this, exposing an inch of his creamy skin to the frigid air, his black turtleneck too small for his frame. He greedily observed him, bearing in mind the fact that this was an intimate view that the boy didn’t reveal to everyone. Fully clothed, he felt more real, more attainable than the persona he danced, and Viktor wanted more of this side never shown to the public.

The boy seemed not to notice Viktor approaching him. Emboldened, he shrugged out of his overcoat, carefully wrapping it around the boy’s shoulders. He looked up then, startled and backed away from him.

“What the fuck?” He hissed, looking at the coat like he wanted to take it off, but it draped around him like a blanket, warm with Viktor’s body heat. He simply held it by the collar, ready to pull it off, when his eyes made contact with Viktor’s. Hesitantly, he stripped the light tan material from his shoulders, cheeks pink. “I-I don’t need this.”

“Of course not.”

“My ride will be here soon,” he added warily, averting his eyes.

“I can wait with you so you’re not alone,” Viktor offered gently. He held up the coat, trying to insist that Viktor take it back. “You can use it until your ride gets here,” he insisted. The boy’s pink cheeks darkened further, but he slipped his arms into the coat, resigning himself to wearing it. He looked happier, though, if the slight light in his eyes was any indication.

“What’s your name?” Viktor asked him conversationally.

“Odile,” he muttered, pointedly not looking at him. Viktor grinned openly. So, he at least knew he looked like the black swan.

“Your real name,” he prompted, watching the boy concentrate on the ground, trying not to show any emotion. He kicked at a rock with his dark sneakers, studying it as it skittered across the asphalt.

“It is my real name,” he countered, lifting his eyes to meet Viktor’s. They were dark amber and full of suspicion. Without thinking, he reached up a hand to caress the boy’s cheek with his fingertips.

“I know that’s not true.” The boy smacked his hand away, and Viktor experienced a moment of irritation, pushing him back against the building. He tried to escape, but Viktor stepped in, closing the distance between them so that he practically pinned him against the wall.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he growled, but Viktor saw his dead eyes come alive in that moment, albeit with fear. Viktor drank it in, pressing his body closer to the boy’s, bowing his head to whisper into his ear.

“Or what, little swan?” He nipped at the lobe, and the boy struggled against him, hands failing to push him away. Viktor caught both his wrists and held them at the boy’s sides, with only enough force to keep them there. “What’s your name?” He breathed along the shell of his ear, and the boy leaned into him this time instead of fighting.

“Let me go, and I’ll tell you,” he negotiated, only a slight waver in his voice. Viktor relinquished his hold on him and took a step back for added measure. He received a defiant stare in reply before the boy sighed. “Yuuri,” he admitted begrudgingly, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “What do you want?” The corner of Viktor’s mouth curved up in response to Yuuri’s abrasiveness.

“I want to take you away from here, little prima.” Viktor watched as a range of emotions moved across Yuuri’s face in quick succession before a snort of derisive laughter slipped from between his lips.

“I don’t need to be saved,” he spat defensively, speaking to the pavement. His fingers tightened their grip on his arms.

“It’s not a matter of need.” Yuuri’s gaze snapped in his direction, distrustful with a sneer pulling at his features.

“A cage is still a cage.”

“It doesn’t have to be, Yuuri,” he murmured, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the filigree case that housed his cigarettes, taking another step back from him. Maybe he would leave it here for the night. He released the latch with practiced fingers, plucking one free and placing it between his lips. He’d come back, earn his trust. He flipped the case closed, pocketing it in exchange for the lighter. His thumb struck against the wheel, bowing his head as the flint sparked and ignited.

The only problem with that plan was that Viktor didn’t have a guarantee that the boy wouldn’t disappear. He inhaled, the edges burning steadily in the flame before he cut it off. He felt the caress of his black gloves against his lips, removing the cigarette from his mouth as he blew out the smoke through pursed lips. He didn’t want to risk losing him.

“Will you stay here?”

“Yu—oh, good evening, sir.” Viktor made eye contact with him one last time before returning the lighter to his pocket and facing the man that just appeared.

“Good evening,” he responded in kind to the manager, the older face easy to remember despite only seeing him once. “I just offered to take him home.”

“Oh, how kind of you, but I can—”

“N-no! I…I want to go,” Yuuri’s voice cracked, startling Viktor and the manager simultaneously. Viktor tried to gauge the manager’s reaction, but his attention was pulled from him when he felt fingers lacing their way through the spaces of his followed by the other hand grasping their joined ones. Yuuri’s maple eyes gazed up at him from beneath full lashes, cheeks flushed, accepting his offer.

His heart skipped a beat, and his returned the tight grip he had on his hand.

“We’ll be going, then,” he declared, purposefully dropping the cigarette and snuffing it out. The manager didn’t move from his position.

“I really can’t permit that,” the manager interjected, eyes darting between him and the boy.

“Do we have a problem?” Viktor noticed that the man stood his ground despite Yuuri’s affirmation. He guided Yuuri behind him, staring down the man from his full height, eyes narrowing. Ah, damn, he thought behind the tough façade. Dmitry isn’t going to be happy if this turns into a fight.

“Maybe we do, Mister...”

“Nikiforov,” he answered acerbically, eyes cold as he challenged the man in his way. He heard Yuuri take in the slightest of breaths while the manager’s haughty smile faltered.

“N-no, my mistake, sir. Please, excuse me; I have an engagement that I’ve just remembered.”

“Certainly,” Viktor graciously agreed to let him leave without consequence. After all, he got what he wanted without having to resort to beating someone into submission.

“Wait—you’re a...Niki—” Viktor faced Yuuri, wide-eyed and shaking, but this time it wasn’t from the cold. With the possibility of that manager witnessing it, he couldn’t chance reassuring him in words above a whisper. He caught him around the waist, a finger curling beneath his chin to better gaze into his face.

“Yuuri, Viktor is fine,” he murmured, his hand trailing down the front of his chest, a part of the act. “You don’t have to be afraid,” he promised, smirking at the bright red color that filled Yuuri’s cheeks. Having had his fun, he pulled away and started off towards his car, the chill finally permeating the three-piece suit he wore. He didn’t hear a second set of footsteps, so he paused, glancing back at him.

“Yuuri,” he called, but the boy didn’t move; he just hid himself in the oversized coat, his thin frame swallowed up in the expensive material. At that moment, the way his hair flopped and framed his face, the boy looked too innocent and pure to moonlight under the guise of Odile.

“It’ll be warmer in the car,” he tempted, trying to hurry along his processing what happened.

“How do I know you won’t throw me away...?” The question died as it passed his lips; as if he knew asking wouldn’t give him a definitive answer. The question pierced him, but he didn’t know what—if anything—he could say. He simply held out a hand for him take, waiting for him to make the decision to come along or not. Yuuri seemed to understand, but this time, he chose not to look at Viktor when he took his hand.

 

They sat in silence, the tension continuing to build as he drove them through the seedy area of downtown. At least, that’s how Yuuri felt. The man focused on taking the back roads, driving past several boarded up apartments, run down businesses, and some of the more shameful places he wished he didn’t know, the way mostly dark.

Christ, if this person actually did as he said. He didn’t know who he was, but he knew the weight of his name, and with that, his reputation, the life that he lived. It was a way out of his current situation.

I’ve been through this before, Yuuri thought with dismay, trying to trample any hope he had for this exchange. He avoided eye contact with the stranger, attempting to make his body smaller in the coat in which he was already engulfed.

Someone just as influential needed him, but he had gotten bored with his play thing. Yuuri squirmed at remembering _him_ , his hot breath against his neck and his greedy hands that bruised his small body. Stop, he commanded, shutting his eyes as tight as possible, until he saw webs of lights in the dark. He didn’t need to remember him; the lesson he had taught was more than enough. Never trust anyone so implicitly, no matter how good they are.

That was the truth about his life, being traded from one master to another, for whatever reason. Sometimes, it was even self-imposed to the highest bidder. He opened his eyes, vision blurring from his contacts moving. He shut his eyes again and carefully pressed his cold fingers against the corners of his eyes, adjusting the way the soft plastic sat on his irises. When he opened them, he saw that they were past the city limit sign. Was that what this was, he wondered idly, stuffing his hands underneath his thighs.

He danced at the club because it gave him money on the side and a roof over his head, despite it being with that manager. Every night, that man would demand a private show, eyes dark with lust as he called for Yuuri to strip out of his clothes, to touch himself, to come while riding his fingers—or while being bent over the side of the bed, face shoved into the mattress, by someone only the manager knew. All while he sat in a chair near the bed, dick oozing in hand, barking orders and positions.

He felt cold thinking about it, but it was as safe as any place could be for him. Other people had it worse, so he didn’t have a right to complain about his situation.

He swallowed, glancing to his left as the man merged onto the highway. “V-Viktor…?” He ground his teeth, inwardly sighing at how shaky his voice was. He scared him, but for an entirely different and shallower reason than him being personally involved in the Russian mafia.

Viktor was beautiful, dangerously so, with moonlight hair and eyes like ice. He had a certain warmth to him, too, making it difficult for Yuuri to stay on his guard. The last time he was with anyone this beautiful, his entire world crashed down around him, and it took everything to get him back to being able to just exist. He couldn’t belong to another situation like that.

Viktor glanced at him, an eyebrow raised in question. Yuuri tried again. “You didn’t force me to come with you.” Obviously, he knew some things, but why under the guise of compliance?

“I’m not in the habit of forcing anyone to do anything,” he responded without missing a beat, and it gave Yuuri the impression he did a lot of negotiating.

“You could have, though,” he assumed, taking in how snug his suit was to his body. The man was fit, in a way that he could only guess came from working in his family’s business.

“You’re right.” He didn’t deny it, putting Yuuri on edge.

“Why didn’t you, then? If you can just take what you want, why bother?” Yuuri was much smaller than him, and he knew it would be all too easy to simply steal him away.

“Are you disappointed?” Viktor’s voice turned husky, the speed of the car increasing. “Did you want me to force you down right there in the cold? Scrape up your pretty face against the pavement? Take your body and make you bleed?” Yuuri felt his stomach clench, nerves bundling with fear. This man was excited by the thought of hurting him.

“N-no, I-I don’t—didn’t,” Yuuri corrected hastily, trying not to appear vulnerable, but failing miserably. He had never been good at hiding anything. That thing, earlier, when he got Viktor to let him go had been a bluff. Viktor breathed out a laugh.

“I don’t like being unnecessarily rough,” Viktor admitted, and Yuuri’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

“But you’re—” His voice cut off as Viktor’s hand touched the inside of his leg, massaging through the material of his jeans.

“I prefer to feel wanted, don’t you?” Gooseflesh erupted over Yuuri’s entire body as he shivered, his hand knowing exactly where to touch. Yuuri clenched his jaw against the gasp that threatened to leave him, feeling the blood rushing to that particular area. He shut his eyes tight, breathing sharply out of his nose. The fingers stroking him through the cloth withdrew before he could get too excited, and he had to fight down another noise when it stopped.

He hated that his face felt hot, and he hated even more that he wanted that touch to continue. “It doesn’t matter,” he muttered indifferently, putting up a wall to his feelings as he faced the window. “If it feels good, it’s fine.” Viktor didn’t have a response to that, and the car fell silent for several miles as they drove over the lake.

“I was serious, you know?” Viktor finally hedged, signaling to pass one of the few cars on the highway with them. Yuuri kept quiet, not sure where Viktor was headed with this line of conversation. “This…doesn’t have to feel like a cage.” Yuuri tilted his head at him, puzzled, the urge to laugh or cry—he wasn’t sure which—just beneath the surface. “I’m not going to force you.”

“Stop the car.”

“We’re on the highway,” Viktor protested. They were still going pretty fast, the speed leveling out as they merged onto the expressway taking them to Long Island. It’s better this way, he thought, trying to convince himself. He’s too nice, too…everything. I can’t stay with him, not when he’s saying those things and touching me like that.

“I’m not going with you. You said you’re not going to force me, so let me out. I don’t need your help.” He got by fine. Everything in his life was fine. It wasn’t easy, but it was the one he built after it shattered. He put himself back together. He didn’t need this man ruining that.

“Where will you go? Back there? Where you’re just—”

“Meat?” Yuuri chose that word consciously, associating it with the gluttonous eyes that were always on him. “Yeah, at least they’re upfront about what I am to them. I’m not a charity case.” He lashed out with his words, trying to provoke Viktor. If I upset him, he’ll let me go, surely.

“I know you’re not, and I’m trying to be.” Yuuri heard the frustration in his voice. If I can push him further…

“No, you aren’t. If I’m with you or with someone else, I’m still trapped. At least with someone else, it’s on my terms.” An uncomfortable air settled around them.

“I thought this was—”

“You thought wrong. Let me out.” Yuuri couldn’t let him finish, staring out of the windshield, struggling to stay calm. He said he wanted to come, but that wasn’t what he wanted, was it? It isn’t, he told himself forcefully. He was swept up in a moment of weakness, the way he stood speaking with his manager, cigarette in hand, cerulean hues mixing with silvery tresses that fell like a halo around his angelic face.

“No.” His gaze snapped from the highway to Viktor, glaring at him.

“Let me out,” he demanded defiantly.

“I’m not letting you out of this car.” Firm, unyielding.

“Why?” He screamed; the first to break the higher octave. “I don’t need you! I don’t need anyone!” Yuuri unbuckled his seatbelt, trying to get at the door handle. A horrible crunching noise sounded, and Yuuri felt the car jerk. Viktor flung out his arm, his elbow catching Yuuri in the chest as he lurched forward.

“Fuck,” Viktor hissed. The wind had gone out of Yuuri, and he heaved for breath. The back end of the car fishtailed, sending them spinning. Hastily, Yuuri yanked at the seatbelt. It caught before he got it to his chest. He tugged again, shortening its length. He released it, pulled again, and got it to the latch.

He looked up right as they crashed through the guardrail. Metal ground on metal, splintering under the force of the car. The windshield buckled. Yuuri screamed. The airbags deployed, hitting him on the jaw. His vision flashed, and he blacked out.

 

When he came to, everything hurt. He opened his eyes, looking around him, his hands touching his torso. He wasn’t bleeding, he didn’t think. He just had spots that felt bruised, like where the seatbelt had cut into him or where Viktor’s elbow caught him. His eyes widened, turning to see Viktor limp in the seat, his light grey hair drenched in a darker color. Oh god, he thought, realization dawning on him. This is my fault. Guilt twisted his gut, and he reached out, nudging his arm with his fingers.

“Viktor…?” He didn’t stir beyond Yuuri’s prodding. “Viktor,” he repeated more urgently, seeing a spot that could be where the blood originated. “Viktor!” He screamed, trying to wake him up, the blood pooling beneath his head growing. Oh, god. No. The guilt bubbled into his throat, and Yuuri scrambled to tear off his seatbelt. He only noticed as he struggled to pull his belt free from the latch that he had a cut his cheek, stinging from liquid entering the wound. He couldn’t think about that right now, seeing how Viktor’s pale skin contrasted with the red. He finally freed himself from his restraints, landing on his shoulder as he detached from the seat. Yuuri felt dizzy, trying to orient himself as he crawled towards him.

“Viktor, please wake up,” he pleaded, his voice choked. He was crying. My fault, my fault, he thought, Viktor still didn’t stir. He bit his lip, trying to force down the emotion as he positioned himself beneath him. He pushed the button and pulled to release the latch on the buckle, trying to unfasten it. It took a few tugs, knuckles white and gritted teeth, before the belt came undone. He grunted when Viktor’s body fell onto him, partially crushing him in the confined space. He held onto him, kicking out the rest of the passenger window. He felt a faint, warm air against his neck, and Yuuri redoubled his efforts to get them out of the car.

He shimmied beneath Viktor to get at the window, pulling himself out first into the cold before grasping Viktor under the armpits and hauling him up. He heaved with everything he had to pull him out, dragging him into the fresh snow, the blood turning the white a putrid black. When did it start snowing?

Yuuri dug in his pockets for his phone, but it didn’t have any signal out here. Maybe Viktor’s...? He felt around his person, then the coat he wore, finding it in his inner pocket. Two bars. Yuuri hit the emergency call button, and dialed 911. A woman answered, ask the emergency and where they were located.

“Uh, we’re—I don’t…we just past the bay…there are trees? I'm okay, but he’s not—we—” He spoke fast into the phone, needing her to know everything, but she cut him off.

“Sweetie, can you calm down? What’s your name?”

“Y-Yuuri,” he stammered. “He’s hurt really bad. He’s bleeding—”

“Who’s ‘he’, Yuuri?”

“He’s my—” Yuuri stopped speaking. He isn’t _my_ anything. “He’s Viktor.”

“Is Viktor breathing?” Yuuri felt some relief wash over him because he knew the answer.

“Yes! Yes, he is! I got us out of the car. But...he hasn’t been conscious since the crash.”

“It’ll be okay, Yuuri, I’ve been able to locate your signal, and I have emergency dispatch on the way to you. Stay on the line with me.” He moved closer to Viktor as her comforting voice asked him questions. Yuuri kept answering her, needing the simple connection while he watched Viktor’s chest rise and fall. Sirens sounded in the distance, and he hung up on her. He slid the phone into the pocket of Viktor’s pants so he wouldn’t lose it and waited anxiously for help to find them.

When the paramedics arrived, they called out to them, and Yuuri called back, seeing their flashlights winking in the darkness. Two teams were sent to retrieve them. He didn’t know why. Maybe they thought Viktor needed extra help? The group conducted triage, prioritizing Viktor over Yuuri because of his apparent stability. That also might have been because Yuuri refused to be touched until he saw that Viktor had been strapped to a partial stretcher and taken up to the highway.

One of the paramedics helped lift Yuuri from the ground, taking most of his weight off of his feet. His legs were shaking as they walked, regardless. “How fast were you going when you hit the ice?” He questioned as he guided him back up the hill. Yuuri’s legs felt like they were going to give out from underneath him.

“I-I don’t know,” Yuuri confessed, head still fuzzy. He regretted his actions, his memories a little hazy of what was said. It was enough to make me want to jump out of the car, though. He groaned, and the paramedic stopped. They were only halfway.

“Do you feel sick?” Yuuri shook his head no; everything about this was his fault for getting skittish. He shouldn’t have tried to get out of the car, but if Viktor had just stopped—no, if Yuuri had just waited until he had stopped. Regret filled him for trying to blame Viktor. He didn’t have that right.

“Let’s keep going,” he said, taking a step with his right foot as his knees gave out. He half collapsed on the man carrying him, though he didn’t seem to notice. He caught him before he fell and hoisted him back up, practically carrying Yuuri back to the road.

Road flares were set up around the ambulance, and alarms went off in Yuuri’s head when he saw that it was empty. “Where’s Viktor?” He demanded, worry etching across his face.

“Your boyfriend?” The paramedic supported him into the back of the van, setting him on a stretcher as he began taking his vitals. It was a safe assumption for the man to make, considering how vehemently Yuuri fought to make sure Viktor was taken care of first.

“Fiancé,” Yuuri corrected, the lie slipping off of his tongue like he had been prepared to say it all along. He didn’t want to lie, but he knew it was the only way he’d be able to know about his condition. People had sympathy for couples in accidents, right?

“Right, he was already taken to the hospital in a separate bus. You’ll probably be able to see him once the doctors have had a look at you.” He announced Yuuri’s blood pressure and pulse, both a little higher than normal, should go down as the adrenaline wore off.

He suffered through the short ride and being carted into the hospital. A few nurses bustled about him, testing his eyes, ears, reflexes. “I’m fine,” he kept repeating. “How’s Viktor, is he okay? Have you treated him?” They just jotted down notes on clipboards as he was poked, prodded, and given an MRI. Not one of the hospital personnel answered his questions about whether or not Viktor was okay.

“Hello, Yuuri.” An elderly woman in a white coat and pink scrubs with rubber duckies knocked on his door. “I’m Dr. Pomona, and I’ll be looking after you. It seems all of your tests have come back negative, but I’m going to keep you here under observation for the next few hours.” She gave him a warm smile, like everything would be okay, but he was at his wit’s end.

“Um, where’s Viktor?” His voice came out higher pitched than he’d have liked, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it right now. “They won’t tell me, and I’ve been asking since I got here.” It’s my fault if he’s hurt. I need to know he’s okay.

“The man you were brought in with?” The doctor repeated for confirmation. Yuuri nodded, apprehensive.

“I don’t know his status, but I’ll check on him for you.” It didn't comfort him; he had to see with him with his own eyes.

“Can I see him?”

“Unfortunately, if you're not family—”

“He—He’s my fiancé,” Yuuri lied, again, feeling uncomfortable. “I told the paramedics,” he added, hoping his face was that of someone put out by having to qualify a fact for a second time. The doctor bought it, a soft look coming over her lined face as she peered at him from over her glasses.

“Sure, honey. I’ll go see where he is for you, and if he’s awake, I'll let you see him for a few minutes. But then I’ll need you to get some sleep. You’ve had a rough evening.”

“Thank you,” he told her appreciatively, sinking back into the bed, feeling exhausted but elated that he was finally getting an answer.

 

Viktor sat up in the bed; hyper aware of the dead weight as he did so. If he was in pain, he definitely wasn’t feeling it. How long had he been out? He remembered the club, the car, the boy—shit. He knew that the drivers were often the only ones who survived this sort of thing. Was he okay?

His worry was short-lived, however. He noticed his uncle, sitting alone in a chair along the wall by the door. He saw the frown, and he steeled himself as Jasper Nikiforov stood, striding purposefully towards him.

“Oh good! I was hoping you'd be awake.” A doctor rushed into his room, ignoring the powerful presence she unknowingly interrupted. She had a grandmotherly look about her, and Viktor attempted to give her his charming smile, however wanly.

“Your fiancé just finished with his examinations and wanted to see you. If you’re up for it, that is.” She tacked that onto the end of her statement, noticing how Jasper’s body tensed at the mention of Viktor having a fiancé. He propped himself up better against the pillows, silently commending the lie. It saved him from having to craft one, at least with the doctors. His uncle on the other hand was another matter entirely.

“Yes, I am,” he stated succinctly, and she gave a nod before leaving the room. Jasper waited until the woman’s footsteps died out of earshot before starting in on him.

“What the hell is wrong with you? I thought I raised you better than this.” Viktor had heard these words before, every time that he got into fights that didn’t benefit their cause.

“Pops, I’m fine,” he tried to brush it off, but the glower sent down from Jasper’s staggering height wiped the weak smile from his face.

“Fine? You call being hooked up to all of this shit, fine? And what was it for? A piece of—”

“Don't call him that.” Viktor cut in before his uncle could even get the word out. Sure, in the beginning, that’s all it was, but in that short space of time, he was overcome with the desire to protect him. He was so small, but he wasn’t as cold as he tried to present himself. Viktor had seen it, could feel it when he grabbed his hand.

“Coming to your ‘fiancé’s’ defense?” Jasper sneered at him, fully aware the lie was what it was.

“Jasper—”

“Don’t you ‘Jasper’ me, boy!” He thundered, but Viktor didn’t fold beneath his rage. He would not stand down from this fight.

“I’m allowed to make my own decisions!”

“Not when they’re going to reflect poorly on our family!”

“If you saw the way he looked at me—”

“I don’t need to see anything,” he seethed maliciously. “They all have the same look, desperate for someone to take care of them. And if it wasn’t you, you can bet there would be another.”

 

Dr. Pomona grumbled incoherently when they heard the disagreement as they made their way up the hall.

“—I liked, and I went after it! It’s not any different than what you did!” Viktor’s voice rang out, the sound echoing in the corridor.

“Don’t you compare the Russian Ballet with that—” Yuuri’s eyes widened, hearing the booming voice before Viktor’s lashed out, matching the other man’s bellow.

“Don’t you fucking call him that!” Oh. Yuuri felt dead on his feet. They’re yelling about me… Guilt tore at his insides, his doctor supporting him into the room.

“What I call him doesn’t matter! He’s art you experience, not take home with you!” The doctor deposited Yuuri in a seat by the door, interrupting the heated discussion quickly.

“Sir, this is a hospital. I’m going to have to ask you to step outside. As you can see, your son needs rest.” The older man looked at her but she held her ground, unintimidated by the man that towered over her by at least a foot. He cleared his throat and adjusted his suit jacket.

“I’ll send Dmitry to come pick you up when you’re released,” he huffed curtly. He then turned and locked eyes with Yuuri, who shrank under the withering look. He and Viktor had the same eyes, but they held none of the warmth Viktor’s had. As he passed, he added into a menacing undertone,

“Don’t get too comfortable, boy.” Yuuri swallowed heavily, not responding. The disappearance of the oppressive aura he felt didn’t assuage his fears, and all too soon Dr. Pomona excused herself with a soft, “I’ll let you two have the room.” He didn’t want to be left alone in this room with him, not yet. Yuuri’s gaze followed her as she left, the dread of confronting one of the worst decisions he had ever made looming closer with every step she took away from the room.

“That was some quick thinking on your part,” Viktor commented dryly, drawing Yuuri’s attention away from the door, forcing him to take in the injuries that he caused. His head was bandaged, and he had some visible bruising on his face and neck. He had a pair of patches that must have covered cuts on his cheek and chin, but he just sat there, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“ _Fiancé_.” Viktor stressed the word, and Yuuri blushed furiously at being met with his lie.

“I'm sorry,” he blurted out, knowing that it wasn't enough for him to encapsulate his wrongdoings in two words.

“What possessed you to try and jump out of a moving car?” He flinched when Viktor said it. It sounded so stupid to hear it out loud. It was suicide, and yet all he received from it were a few scrapes, a bruised sternum, and minor cut from where the seatbelt dug into his shoulder. Viktor sighed, laughing a little bitterly. “It doesn’t matter. You’re all right. I’ll take that over being able to walk any day.” Yuuri stared at him, stricken by the news. My fault, his heart clenched with the guilt that roiled in his stomach. _‘Bad people do bad things, Yuuri. I wouldn’t hurt you if you weren’t so_ bad _.’_   Yuuri wrapped his arms around himself, protecting himself from the memory. It wasn’t the same; this wasn’t the same. Tears welled up in his eyes, unbidden, and he shut them tight, tucking his chin so he could keep them from spilling onto his cheeks. He wouldn’t waste whatever dignity he had left on crying openly in front of this stranger.

“I’ll take care of you,” he whispered, stifling the thickness in his throat as best as he could.

“What?” Viktor asked, his tone suggesting he didn’t quite believe what he heard. Yuuri willed himself to focus on what was happening, to meet his gaze. Azure eyes stared back, looking for confirmation.

“Until you’re better, I’ll take care of you,” he stated calmly.

“Yuuri, you don’t have to—my family,” he paused, shaking his head. “I’ll be okay.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” Yuuri told him flatly, “But I _want_ to.” No, he _had_ to, for his own peace of mind. He stood up, albeit unsteadily, but he hobbled to Viktor’s bedside. “I’m going to help you get better; whatever it takes. When you can walk again, I’ll leave,” He held out his hand. “These are my terms.” Viktor glanced at his proffered hand, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Whatever it takes?” He inquired, a perfectly curved eyebrow rising up against the bandage, and Yuuri clenched his jaw, knowing exactly what he was saying. Viktor leaned forward off of his pillows and grasped his hand firmly in his larger, warmer hand.

“Deal.”


	2. Affirmation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I now know what it feels like to be a writer with a deadline. Holy god. I am tentatively going to say that there will be 5 chapters in total, so we shall see how well the story sticks to that.
> 
> *Please read the updated tags.

Yuuri had fallen asleep by the time that Viktor woke. He smiled, seeing that he had pulled one of the chairs closer to the bed. They released Yuuri early in the day, and he seemed like he would drop at any moment. He tried to share the expanse of his bed with him. It was big enough for there to be a space between them, but Yuuri’s fervent denial kept him from insisting. Still, it couldn’t have been comfortable for him sleeping in that chair.

Viktor hadn’t really realized how tiny he was until this moment. He was able to fit perfectly in the small seat, Viktor’s now-tattered coat draped over him like a blanket. He wondered how he managed to rest like that, compressed to fit on an unforgiving surface. His arms were folded on the black handle, making a pillow for his head. The dark mass of his hair fell messily over his cream-colored skin, caressing his face lightly like a feather. Viktor caught himself, his hand inches from the fine tresses. He drew it back, content to just watch him as he dozed, his soft features even more pronounced in his vulnerable state, his black lashes full against his cheeks, his mouth parting ever so slightly.

Viktor jumped when a nurse came in shortly after, minding the fact that the boy near him was sleeping. “Visiting hours will be over soon,” he reminded, and Viktor gave him a silent nod of affirmation, seeing how dark it had gotten. “How are you feeling? Any changes in pain?”

“I’m all right. Nothing too serious,” Viktor informed him, eyes following him as he checked his drip bags and IV.   

“On a scale of one to ten,” the nurse started.   

“Three,” he supplied automatically. It wasn’t debilitating, just a twinge or two in his back. The nurse nodded, pulling out gauze and tape from a drawer. He set them down on the silver tray before moving into a plastic dresser with individual labels. He took a small packet from inside and a Q-tip from another cubby. He began to the dressing his head carefully, revealing the wound at his temple.   

“No headaches, vision okay?” The nurse continued, opening the packet and squeezing a liberal amount of the opaque gel onto the swab.   

“None, and I still see fine,” he responded, the sudden urge to scratch as the nurse applied the ointment to his sutures. He knew that grazing the spot with his hand wouldn’t help the healing process. He gritted his teeth, willing the sensation to go away. The nurse only cut a bit of the gauze, taping it to his skin. He continued, checking reflexes on his arms, then his legs. They didn’t budge. It was difficult not to feel disappointment, but Viktor shrugged it off. No use worrying over it right now.  

“All right, someone will be in shortly with dinner. Use your call button if you need anything.”   

“Sure,” Viktor agreed, settling back against his pillows. He reached for his phone, thankful that one of the staff had been kind enough to charge it for him. He dialed Dmitry, who picked up on the first ring.   

“Jasper’s beside himself,” he answered without saying hello.   

“I’m fine, thanks for asking.” Dmitry chuckled darkly.  

“Irina actually sent him to go cool off after he shouted about it to her.”   

“Did she really?” Viktor was surprised at that. Irina rarely reacted negatively to what Jasper did or said in anger. Maybe she actually took offense? His friend didn’t allow him to delve too deep into that information.   

“I cannot believe you actually did it,” Dmitry groaned into the phone, and Viktor imagined that he could see the man pinching the bridge of his nose. “I get it if Jasper pissed you off with the last deal, and you’re doing this to get back at him. There are plenty of other, less messy ways to get under his skin, Viktor. You of all people should know that.”   

“I don’t know what you’ve heard, but this isn’t some elaborate plan to provoke Jasper. I haven’t had an issue with him about our family business.” Viktor was exacting with his speech so that any stray ears wouldn’t be able to gather important information.  

“Are you sure about that? In all the time we’ve been together, not once have I seen you go against him.” He couldn’t refute that. They had known each other since middle school, and Jasper’s word was like gospel for the devout.   

“I’m sure.” His grip tightened on the device. “But this is different, Dmitry. All of that is for me to be prepared if he dies. This is…different.” He glanced over at Yuuri, still sleeping soundly under his coat in the chair.   

“Different  _how_?” One of Yuuri’s hands freed itself from the tangle of arms, drawing the coat closer to his face. A ghost of a smile was barely visible from Viktor’s angle, but the gesture itself took hold of his heart and throat simultaneously. This was why he went against Jasper, but he didn’t know how to phrase it.   

“I need you to do something for me,” he muttered into the phone, blatantly dodging his question. “Yuuri’s been discharged, and I need you to take him home.”

“Do you have a death wish—wait, no, don’t answer that.” Dmitry sighed loudly. “Why am I taking him back to our place? When Jasper finds out—”   

“Irina sent him out, that means the matter is closed, so it’s mostly safe.” He heard a string of curses in Russian on the other end of the phone as someone came into his room to deliver the evening meal. They quietly set it on his table, positioned it within reach, and left the room without a word.   

“You want me to sneak him into the house? What part of ‘I don’t want to die’ do you not get?”

“Irina will handle it.”

“You give her too much credit.”

“You don’t give her enough. She did marry him in his wild years, according to how Jasper tells it.” Viktor attempted to keep his disposition cheery and calm despite Dmitry’s rebuttals. He heard him exhale ‘Bastard’ on the other end.   

“Fine, but I’m not exactly on your side on this one,” he confessed without reservation, the quiet rage underlying his words. “Jasper—”   

“It’ll be fine, Mitya,” Viktor tried to reassure his friend.   

“We’ll see, Vitya.” The line went dead, and Viktor glared at his phone, resisting the urge to throw it. They were family, but even Dmitry had his line drawn in the sand. He rubbed his face, frustrated from the opposition. At least he knew Irina was on his side.  

   

Yuuri’s face felt numb when he woke up, bleary eyed and hungry. He ignored the small pang, the one bit of control he had over himself since the beginning. He sat up and stretched until he felt his bones pop from the awkward position. He carefully picked the sleep out of his eyes, minding his contacts. He slept in them since last night, not having solution to wash or a case to store them. He really needed to let his eyes breathe, but he didn’t want to impose on Viktor any more than he already had.

“Your ride’s about to be here,” Viktor mumbled, cuddling against the hospital pillow, blue hues barely visible in the faint light drifting in from the hallway. Yuuri shook his head at him emphatically.   

“I’m not going anywhere; I’m supposed to help you,” he protested rapidly. “Is this because I fell asleep?” He could see the outline of Viktor’s face, his lips curving up at the corners and his shoulders shaking from silent laughter. Yuuri glared at him, but that didn’t stop his mild fit. Rather, it just increased the volume.   

“No,” he replied once he found his voice. “It’s because you’ll be miserable here, and the doctors aren’t keen on letting you stay.” Yuuri tried to interject, but Viktor talked over him, a wry grin spreading over his features. “Don’t seem so eager; you’ll make me get the wrong idea.” Yuuri narrowed his eyes at him; he was right. He didn’t need to worry over him now. The damage was done, and his servitude meant he just had to meet Viktor’s needs. The doctors would handle the rest.   

Taking his coat off of his shoulders, Yuuri tossed it at him. The shabby thing wasn’t bundled, letting Viktor catch it easily rather than be hit in the face. He grabbed hold of his chair and carted it back to its original spot, huffing mostly to himself. “Yuuri, don’t be like that.”    

“I’m not ‘being’ anything. We’re not friends. I’m just taking care of you.” He had to make that clear; he had keep himself closed off to this person. He trained his eyes on the medical equipment in the room, avoiding Viktor’s gaze.    

“That sounds lonely.”

“It isn’t.” Stubbornly, he folded his arms against his chest, holding himself tight.   

“Yuuri, we’ll be—” A sharp tone pierced through Viktor’s voice, and Yuuri caught him hastily reaching for his cell phone as it lilted for a second time. “Hey—yeah, I’ll tell him…I know, Mitya—thanks.” Yuuri stood, taking that conversation meant the person picking him up had arrived. “Yuuri—” He glanced over at him, sitting on the bed, holding his phone in his hands. “He’s waiting out front for you.”   

“All right…I’ll…see you?” Yuuri paused, staring at Viktor, who motioned for him to come over to the bed. Yuuri scrunched up his face a bit, uncertain if he should go to his side.  

“Why? Don’t I have to go?” He questioned him, gesturing at the door. Viktor pouted at him, eyes going round and soft like a puppy begging for a treat. Yuuri exhaled noisily but entertained him, treading forward, his motions less than confident. Viktor set down his phone.    

“Give me your hand,” he said gently, his palm supine, visible to Yuuri. Warily, Yuuri placed his hand in Viktor’s. His fingers closed around his, enveloping them in a subtle heat. Yuuri eyes flicked to Viktor’s, those heady, ocean blues mesmerizing him.   

“I’ll be out soon. Don’t get lonely without me.” The words pulled Yuuri back from the brink of falling into them, and he clicked his tongue reproachfully at Viktor and himself. Who the hell did he think he was? What did  _he_  think he was doing? He refused to get swept away again in a moment.  

Yuuri took back his hand, albeit reluctantly, shaking. He drew it close to his chest, making a fist as he did so to stop the tremors. He couldn’t look at him, not after that, not when his cheeks felt like they were on fire.   

“I won’t,” he mumbled, pointedly walking away.   

Stupid, he thought, shutting the door to Viktor’s room behind him. He swallowed hard, needing to distance himself from that man and those memories. He walked faster down the hallway, just watching his feet as the tile slipped by him. Sloppy, he berated viciously, stopping briefly to figure out where he was. No, not the stairs; he had a thing about stairs. He followed the signs until he reached the elevators and mashed the button to go down to the first floor.   

The doors rattled closed, and Yuuri backed away from them, the noise putting him on edge. The metallic sound brought him back to the accident, and he wanted to suppress those memories. They made him feel more susceptible to remembering things that were better left in the past.   

He hurried out of the hospital, the automatic doors parting for him as he did so. A frigid breeze passed through his clothes, lifting his shaggy hair as his arms wrapped tightly around his small frame. Snow flurries drifted on the wind, the parking lot caked in the powdery white mess. He shivered, biting into his lower lip hard as he scanned the area for a car that didn’t fit in with the rest of the landscape. He ran out into the road, searching left and right when a hand grasped his shoulder.   

Yuuri started, jerking away from the touch and turning to see who it was that grabbed him. His eyes widened to twice their size, taking in the behemoth. He wore an all-black suit, save for a white-collared shirt. His dark sandy hair was combed back, revealing his dusty blue eyes and square jaw. His lips formed a line that reminded him of Viktor’s father. He stepped back from the man, alarmed.   

“Let’s go,” he commanded in a low rumble. Yuuri didn’t budge; he wouldn’t go anywhere with him unless he said he was the person that was sent for him. He had to be sure.

The man sighed, moving into Yuuri’s space and seized his wrist. Yuuri gasped, wincing at the bruising grip as he towed him in the opposite direction.

“Let go of me!” He shouted, struggling to wrest his arm back from the giant. He dug his heels into the snow, but for all the good it did him, the action made him trip, hurting his shoulder in the process as the man dragged him along. A lone car was left running under a street lamp, and Yuuri tugged at his wrist harder.  

He kicked out at him, but the man tossed him against the frame of the car, knocking the air from his lungs. Yuuri doubled over, wheezing as the man took his shoulder and forced him to be upright. He glowered down at him, and Yuuri stared back in defiance. The man’s grip loosened for a moment, like he was thinking twice about handling him this way, and Yuuri lunged forward only to be shoved hard against the car. He coughed, feeling pain bloom over his back. The man pinned him against the window, his hand at the base of his neck, slowly constricting his airway.  

“I’m only going to say this once,” he growled at him. Yuuri worked to breathe, his fingers clutching at the man’s hand and failing to pry it away. “I don’t trust you. I will hurt you. That idiot may want you around, but I don’t answer to him. If Jasper says to kill you, I won’t hesitate. Now get in the car,  _whore_.” The man didn’t introduce himself, he simply strode around to the driver’s side. Yuuri felt his knees buckle, his heart pounding against his chest as he hit the ground on all fours. He sucked in the cold air, heaving as it burned his throat.

He felt weak, dizzy as he stumbled to his feet. He clenched his jaw against the emotion that clawed up his esophagus, opening the latch. He eased himself into the seat, gulping down the saliva that coated his mouth. He didn’t look at him, his body only taking up half of the seat as he stuck close to the window. His head hurt, and he fought to keep from breaking down, feeling memories scratching at the edge of his consciousness as they drove off in the night.   

   

Yuuri kept quiet for the entire drive, even as they pulled into the estate. The long driveway flanked by snow-covered trees didn’t look nearly as peaceful as it should have. He saw a similar place, sunny and warm, a weeping willow statue sunk into a basin, the leaves dripping with water to make it look like it was raining. His heart seized in his chest, and his eyes frantically sought out anything to keep him in this moment and not in the memory.

The mansion came into view, and it helped. The old Victorian sprawled out in front of them, beautiful and sinister, but it looked nothing like the Colonial he had known. There were only two floors and maybe enough space for an attic. It let him breathe, seeing ivy spiraling artfully over the sides and over black iron balustrades. His driver parked, and Yuuri hastily unfasted his seatbelt to get out of the car.    

“Your room is down the left hallway, the last door to your left,” the man informed him as he rushed to get away from this person. However, his unbreakable grip encased Yuuri’s wrist again. Yuuri’s knuckles turned white as he held the door handle. “Don’t go upstairs.” He released him, and Yuuri hurried outside into the cold. When the door shut, the man sped out of sight, down a road that probably led to another part of the house. Yuuri massaged his wrist delicately, trudging up the final walk to the mansion’s entry.   

He knocked twice and waited for someone to answer, but no one came. He gnawed on his lower lip, nervous. His skin felt frozen, his ears and nose especially, but he couldn’t just let himself in, could he? He quivered in front of the door, bringing his hands to his face so his breath could warm his cheeks and nose as he rocked between his heels and his toes. He silently debated with himself, but the icy temperature won out over propriety, and he twisted the knob.  

It was unlocked, and Yuuri pushed open the door, revealing the warm interior of light amber and cream. He carefully shut the door, staring up at the crystal chandelier that winked from overhead in the circular foyer. Yuuri tore his eyes from it, its golden arms carrying beautiful, faceted leaves, to see the pristine, white marble flooring and his out-of-place footwear, caked in snow, melting dirt onto it.  

He toed off his shoes, picking them up off of the floor, aware of how filthy he was compared to this room. He hadn’t showered in three days, his clothes had some of Viktor’s blood on them, and the fuzz on Yuuri’s teeth made him feel squeamish. He didn’t belong here, that much was evident as he examined his surroundings.

Four, first floor hallways branched off from the central room, and Yuuri tiptoed down the first, left corridor, heart in his throat. He clutched his sneakers to his chest, his shirt absorbing the snow as his toes pattered on the hardwood. He shuddered, noting how  _clean_  everything was in the hall, the doors, the art, impressing on him the stain he caused by being here. Yuuri huddled in on himself, damning his pride and wishing this had never happened.  

 _“They always want you, Yuuri. It’s why I get so angry.”_  He tripped over his feet hearing that voice, barely catching himself on the floor. He bit the inside of his cheek, tasting blood. This was different from those times. He swallowed, staggering back to his feet, seeing a light at the end of the hall. He followed it to the last door on the left, the room’s door was cracked open. He peered inside. There were clothes on the bed, toiletries, and a card. This was supposed to be his room, but why would this stuff be here? He didn’t have anything.  

Cautiously, Yuuri entered the room, gathering his shoes in one arm so he could pick up the card. It had ‘Welcome’ written in gold cursive on the front. He revealed the inside inscription, glancing from it to the things left on the bed.   

 _Mama wanted to make sure you felt at home here, so she and I got some things for you! Your room connects to the hall bathroom, and Mama made meat pies for dinner. Text me when you’re settled in, and I’ll bring you one! —Aleksei_    

 _P.S. I programmed Viktor’s number in the phone, too._    

Yuuri stared at the letter, his emotions tearing in two directions. The person that drove him couldn’t be Aleksei, right? But why would Aleksei and his mother  _care_  if his stay was comfortable? He knew the man that drove him and Viktor’s father didn’t want him to be here. Yuuri’s hand shook, wrinkling the paper he held as he reread the post script. There was a phone for him?   

He set down his shoes, riffling through the items on the bed until he found a box with the aforementioned phone. He popped open the box, removing the device. It was nearly as big as his hand. He pulled out his dead cell phone, a third of the size of the new smartphone. Should he message Viktor? No—no, he didn’t need to hear from him. He set both on the bedside table, looking through the rest of the things presented him. A couple shirts, pullovers, sweatpants, and boxer-briefs sat on the bed, all smalls, next to a pile of soaps, hair wash, razors and shaving cream. He grabbed the toothbrush and toothpaste first, taking it into the bathroom before returning for the rest of the bathing supplies.   

He brushed his teeth, avoiding eye contact with the mirror. He didn’t want to know what he looked like right now, certain of the dark circles that often plagued his under eyes. He rinsed out his mouth after scraping his tongue and wiped his mouth on a hand towel. He took a deep breath, hands hesitating to take off his turtleneck. He couldn’t look away, his eyes taking in every blemish as he peeled the black material from his thin frame.  

His cheek had a red gash that the doctors secured with butterfly tapes, the skin blistered from the cold. His shoulder appeared to be bleeding beneath the skin, irritated red and blotchy where his body had been caught by the seatbelt. Right in the center of his chest was a dark purple bruise from Viktor’s elbow. He pressed his fingers against it, wincing as the skin blushed white for a moment before returning to the violent color. His waist had a blackening contusion running across it as he stripped down to his underwear.

His pale skin amplified each marking, especially the fresh bruises on his wrists from the man that retrieved him. He turned, checking his back. There were two red dots along his spine, his fingers gingerly prodding at them, avoiding the long scars that slid over his back.   

Suddenly, he felt hot, his heartbeat thudding loudly in his ears. He swore he could see him hovering over him, his lips at his ears, arms wrapping around his waist. His fingers dipped below his shorts.  _“You’re so fair, Yuuri.”_  Yuuri withdrew his hands from his back, grasping and pulling at his hair. No, he thought, trying to make the pain ground him. No, I’m here. Not there. He whimpered, shuddering as he felt fingers tracing along the iliac crest to his back, outlining each scar followed by languid passes of lips.

They were tender, soothing. They were lies.

He sank to his knees, clutching his head as tears rolled down his cheeks. All of his work to forget about _that person_ shattering as he heard his dark laugh in his ears, promising to hurt him more than he already had.

“Stop, stop, stop,” he begged, shutting his eyes, trying to force away the sensation of him touching his body. It wasn’t happening, but he could  _feel_  his nails dig into his flesh, dragging down his back, opening the fresh wounds made only moments before with a leather whip. He shrieked into his arms as he curled in on himself, the cold of the tile waking him up a little from the memory his body gave him.   

His eyes snapped open, and he crawled to the tub instinctively, turning on the tap for hot. He pulled the lever to activate the shower, and he clambered over the edge of the tub into the stream. The sensations stopped, and he didn’t see blood, just the white from the porcelain. He sat under the flow, cradling his knees to his chest, the hot water doing what he couldn’t do alone. He dipped his head between his knees, sobbing as the heat rained over him.  

He didn’t want to remember any of it.  

   

“Well?” Viktor prompted impatiently, watching how Dr. Trong reviewed his charts and the x-rays surreptitiously. He’d been kept for two weeks, for extra tests and observation, none of which gave promising news as to when he would walk again.   

“I’m sure you’re aware of your situation,” he started, and Viktor nodded. “The symptoms associated with your injury are consistent with both people that have and have not been able to recover. I would like for you to continue work with our physical therapists once every two weeks for the foreseeable future. Don’t give up hope, Viktor. The human body is quite resilient.” Viktor’s lips drew into a thin line as the doctor reached out his hand.   

“Right,” he conceded, grasping his hand firmly for a moment before letting go. “So, I’ll check in with you in how many weeks?” He asked,  _rolling_  beside the doctor before exiting the room. Dr. Trong thought for a moment.   

“Let’s give it eight weeks. Let everything settle, and we will retest as necessary.” It was all that they could do at this point. He sighed heavily, a notification tone signaling him from his pocket. He drew out his phone, Dmitry’s text letting him know that he had arrived and was waiting downstairs for him in the lobby.   

He guided himself to the elevators, practically eye level with the call buttons. He rubbed the back of his head, chagrined at the situation in which he put himself. “You’re not dead, at least,” he muttered frankly, the elevator doors opening. He let the people that were getting off file out first before entering the small space. Funny, these things always felt roomier when one wasn’t attached to a chair.   

“What floor are you?” A little girl next to her mom asked sweetly, and Viktor told her, giving her one of his infamous grins with a smooth, ‘Thank you.’ She turned scarlet, touching the button despite the fact that it was already lit. The three of them rode the lift to the first floor, and Viktor gestured for them to go first when the doors opened. He didn’t want special treatment because of this. It was only temporary, he hoped.   

He caught sight of Dmitry, who frowned down at him as he came into view. Viktor craned his neck to look at him. “When did you get so tall?”   

“When you lost a couple feet, dumbass. Here, let me—”   

“No, I’ve got it. Let me do it,” he told him insistently, turning himself in the proper direction and leading the way to the exit. “How are things going back at the house?” He questioned as they got outside. Dmitry scoffed, and Viktor halted in front of the automatic doors. He could tell he was on edge about something. “What?”  

“Jasper’s still upset, and he’s mostly confined to the upstairs, conducting business as usual. Irina’s trying, but so far, nothing has come from it.” Viktor could tell that wasn’t all.   

“What else?” They travelled away from the entrance, allowing Dmitry time to gather his thoughts.   

“Aleksei’s not speaking to me, and he’s hanging around that  _person_ ,” he admitted disdainfully. He knew better than to call Yuuri anything else after Aleksei tattled on him a week ago. “Something’s not right with him, Viktor. I don’t know how to describe it, but even when he’s with Aleksei, every little noise makes him jump. It’s like he expects someone to come out from the shadows and eat him.” Viktor let him open the passenger door for him, and he hoisted himself into the seat. He adjusted his legs before pulling the door shut behind him, fastening his belt while Dmitry put away the wheelchair and got into the car.   

“I wonder why he’d think someone was trying to eat him.” Viktor intentionally sounded obtuse while giving Dmitry a glare. “How would you react in a place you don’t know after being treated like that?” Dmitry ground his teeth as he started the car.  

“What did you expect me to do? I’m supposed to protect you—and Aleksei,” he retorted, frustration clear in his voice, putting the car in drive.  

“What’s there to protect us from?” Viktor inquired, eyeing him curiously. “He’s not a threat.”  

“You don’t know him. He’s not exactly the best person for Aleksei.” Viktor snorted a little.  

“You’re kidding, right?” He wasn’t kidding. “We go out and shake people down.”  

“What we do is different,” Dmitry resisted.  

“It’s business!” He argued back, losing his cool. Dmitry pursed his lips, and Viktor rested his elbow on the armrest set into the door, cupping his forehead with the palm of his hand.  

“So it’s fine for him to talk about—”  

“He wouldn’t. It’s not something that…” Viktor trailed off, lifting his head from his hand to look at Dmitry. “I know you don’t understand, but I couldn’t leave him there,” he confided, trying to level with his best friend.  

“But I  _do_ , Vitya.” Dmitry’s voice had softened, too. “I remember when you found Makkachin. When you saw what those kids were doing, you beat the shit out of them. We ran four blocks to get him to a vet, even though you knew how Irina felt about dogs. You convinced her to let you keep him if he made it.” Viktor remembered how small that puppy was and his soft fur—what was left of it. Those kids deserved more than a few broken bones in his opinion. “Viktor, I know you want to protect him.”  

“Are you saying that I can’t?” Challenging Dmitry despite his current situation. His friend just shook his head, laughing somewhat bitterly.  

“No, you’re just dumb enough that it’ll probably work out.” Viktor shot him an unamused look. 

“I’m going to pretend that was you not being a jackass,” he said flatly. Dmitry shrugged, still smirking as he turned on the radio. 

“Do what you want. You always do.” 

  

It was strange maneuvering into the house with the wheelchair, but Viktor managed without needing to call Dmitry. He silently thanked Irina’s recent redesign of the flooring to the mansion, noting how difficult it would have been if the plush carpet hadn’t been switched. He pushed himself towards the kitchen, through the doorway closest to the right of the stairs. He wondered idly which of the first floor bedrooms his had been moved. “So, Sailor turns to me and declares, ‘You’re taking me to prom’.”  

“She’s the one you showed me a picture of, right?” Viktor raised his eyebrow. Aleksei was still interested in her? He eavesdropped on the conversation, listening to Yuuri praise Aleksei’s ‘game’. “What’s it like? I never got the chance to go.”  

“What? Oh, right, you got your GED… Well, this is my first year, but I know all of the girls dress up fancy, and I’ll have to rent a tux.”  

“It’s really no different from New Year’s here, Alek,” Viktor chimed in then, squeezing past the entry. Aleksei pouted from his barstool at him. He saw Yuuri sit up straighter in his, not turning around to look at him. He returned his attention to his brother, hearing him exclaim, 

“Except the fact that there will be people my age!” Viktor chuckled in amusement. 

“There will be that.” Aleksei jumped down from the barstool, going in for a hug, an enthusiastic ‘You’re home!’ on his lips. Viktor returned it, holding him tight until his brother gasped, 

“Can’t breathe!” He relented and ruffled his hair affectionately. Viktor’s eyes couldn’t help but wander to Yuuri as he slid from his chair, his bare feet barely making a sound as they hit the floor. His clothes hung loosely on his body, cotton gathering around the ankle of his cuffed, grey sweatpants, his arms barely filling the midnight sleeves, the nape of his neck just visible above the sagging collar of his shirt. 

“I should finish the laundry,” he muttered in excuse, his voice no longer animated like it had been a moment ago. Viktor reached out for his hand, but Yuuri pulled away from him without so much as a second glance. He had the urge to go after him, but Aleksei put a hand on his shoulder, keeping him in place. 

“What?” Viktor incited, taking his eyes away from the doorway to look at his brother. 

“He does that, sometimes,” he informed him. “Especially if Pops or Dmitry are around.” Viktor glanced back at the entrance, a feeling of longing coming over him. He didn’t want to just let him go. They hadn’t spoken for two weeks, and he needed to know how he was adjusting. He mentally shook himself. He’ll still be here, he reminded himself. 

“Is that why you’re not talking to Dmitry?” He returned his attention to Aleksei, who’s face had gone dark at the mention of the man. 

“No! And I won’t until he apologizes. It’s not that hard,” Aleksei protested, tucking a lock of his silver-blond hair behind his ear. So, he really was mad at him for calling Yuuri a whore. 

“For Dmitry, it is,” Viktor snickered a little. “Did I miss dinner?” Without further provocation, Aleksei went to the fridge, pulling out a premade plate for him.

“Yeah, Mama made it early because she caught Yuuri looking for something to eat.” 

“She cooked?” Viktor concentrated for a moment, trying to recall the last time Irina had actually cooked something herself. It must have been just after Aleksei was born. Aleksei nodded, humming happily. “Did hell freeze over while I was in the hospital?” 

“I don’t know, maybe? She’s been cooking, ever since Yuuri showed up, and she’s really good at it—everything’s so rich!” Aleksei laughed but paused in the middle of it. “You know; I think she’s trying to fatten him up.” 

“Where is she, anyway? I need to thank her for helping getting him settled.” Viktor was relieved that she had taken his side in this, going so far as to cook for Yuuri. He took the plate from Aleksei, propelling himself to the door leading into the dining room. 

“She’s with Pops right now, but I’m sure she’ll be down in a bit.” Aleksei joined him, moving a chair so that he’d have a spot at the table. They talked for a little while, mostly Viktor explaining the situation to his brother while he devoured the shashlik, green beans, and garlic potatoes. 

“I thought I heard your voice, Vityunya.” Viktor perked up, pushing up from his chair, until he realized he couldn’t stand for the family’s matriarch. He cursed under his breath, seeing Irina glide into the room, her long, blonde hair tied back in a low ponytail. “I’m happy you’re home, mon syn.” She came to him, her willowy arms wrapping him up like they had so many times. He buried his face into her neck, smelling the faint perfume of lily and saffron.

“I’m sorry, Mama,” he apologized, but she hushed him, pulling back to cup his face in her hands. Her bright green eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and her full lips that leaned in to press a kiss to his forehead.

“None of that now. Lyosha, please give us the room, I need to speak with your brother for a bit.” 

  

Yuuri washed his face and rinsed out his mouth. His eyes were still red, but only a little. His throat felt raw, but at least he wasn’t uncomfortably full anymore. When Irina caught him rummaging around in the cabinets, she refused to let him just eat a couple of crackers. She insisted on a full meal, and the thought of it made him grimace. He could still taste it, despite having brushed his teeth twice. 

He tried and failed to seem normal in front of her, her eyes more perceptive than Alek’s. From the way she observed him, he had the sneaking suspicion that she knew the struggle, too. He wiped his face, putting his toothbrush back into the drawer where he kept it. He was fine, though. He had been doing this for a long time to stay this small. He had to be this small. It was expected of him. 

He lifted up his shirt, bunching up the material at his chest. The bruises were going away slowly, turning yellow around the edges. He traced them idly with his fingertips, following the line over his sharp hip bone. They ceased moving at the waistband of his sweats, and he just stared at himself in the mirror. His eyes seemed hollow as he examined his reflection, still shadowed by dark circles. His torso drew in femininely, giving him the faint outline of curves.  _“It suits you so well.”_  He backed away, colliding with the wall and dropped the hold he had on his shirt. He whimpered, seeing hands reach out to touch him. 

The door opened, and Yuuri sank to the floor, trying to hide himself. His heart beat loudly in his ears, pulse thrumming through his veins. 

“Yuuri?” He looked up and saw Viktor in the doorway, worry written across his face. No hands, just, 

“Viktor.” He shook his head, running a hand through his unkempt hair. Shit, he had another episode. Shit, he was on the floor. The lack of sleep was getting to him. Slowly, he pushed himself back up the wall so that he was standing again. He glared at the floor, feeling betrayed by himself for getting caught in a moment of weakness. 

“I don’t really know what to say,” Viktor started, his voice gentle. Yuuri flinched, expecting him to say something cruel. “I’m just concerned because you promised to help me get better, and how can you do that if you’re not…okay?” Yuuri lifted up his head, his eyes roving over him, registering a truth he had avoided. He had promised to take care of him, hadn’t he, in his haste to repent.

Shakily, Yuuri found his voice. “I-I don’t even know how I can help…” He left the sentence hanging there, unable to bring himself to say ‘me or you’. Instead, he gestured weakly, indicating the entire house. “You have everything you could need here.”

“You don’t have to force yourself to stay. If you don’t want to—”

“I promised,” Yuuri shot back, getting angry, looking into Viktor’s eyes. He faltered, his voice dying in his throat as they lit up. “I’m not…I’ll try…” A soft smile graced his features, and Yuuri felt heat rise into his cheeks.

“Okay.” It was a simple affirmation, but coupled with that angelic face, it cradled a hope in Yuuri that he desperately didn’t want to recognize.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mitya: Affectionate nickname for Dmitry  
> Vityunya: Another affectionate nickname for Viktor  
> Mon syn: My son  
> Lyosha: Affectionate nickname for Aleksei


	3. Jealousy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this took so long to get out (and that it’s the shortest chapter). Holidays always do a number on my ability to focus. I hope you enjoy this chapter. We’re getting closer to the end, still a few more things I want to cover before we reach the close. Thank you all so much for your patience and your views/reviews/bookmarks/kudos. I really do appreciate and cherish all of them!

Irina finished frying the eggs and sausage by the time Aleksei and Yuuri wandered into the kitchen, both yawning sleepily. Viktor smirked into his coffee mug as he finished the last of the drink; Yuuri’s bedhead was incredible. Irina reached into the cabinets, withdrawing three plates, and began to dole out food for each of the three men present. She had eaten with Jasper before he left to attend a meeting to finalize Viktor’s temporary repositioning to bookkeeper. He hated accounting work, preferring to go out with Dmitry, but it couldn’t be helped. Not in his current state at least.    

“Where’s Dmitry?” Aleksei asked as his mother handed him his plate. “He said we were going to hang out today.” A pout formed along Aleksei’s lips, and Viktor grinned, eyes moving between him and Yuuri, who was extra quiet this morning. 

“I thought you had school today.” He eyed his little brother suspiciously, expecting him to say he was skipping. 

“I gave you the calendar in August! They scheduled a teacher in-service day today. Dmitry remembered and rescheduled his work so we could hang out!” With how eager Aleksei was about spending time with the man, Viktor knew they weren’t fighting anymore.  

“So he apologized?” He pressed, glancing over at Yuuri, hopeful that he would chime in, but only Aleksei huffily answered with a yes. His attention stayed on Yuuri, though, ignoring his little brother diving into a tirade in the process. 

“Thank you, Irina,” Yuuri mumbled when she handed him a loaded plate of sausage, eggs, and potatoes. Her soft giggle sounded like a bell, her hand resting on his shoulder.    

“Call me ‘Ira’, Yurochka,” she murmured fondly, effortlessly passing on the affectionate nickname. Viktor felt a new wave of love for her as he witnessed their private moment.  

“Thank you, Ira,” Yuuri corrected, flushing pink. Fingers plucked at his ear, making Viktor wince and grab the appendage. He narrowed his eyes at Aleksei, who shrugged, obviously not repentant.    

“Lyosha, don’t give him such a hard time,” Irina told him, Yuuri already excusing himself to the dining room, a glass of water in hand. Viktor moved around the island to get orange juice from the fridge.    

“Mama, how many times do I have to say it’s ‘Alek’!” He complained, though any further objection was silenced as she leveled him with her own, more frightening glare. Viktor finished pouring his drink quickly, leaving Aleksei to fend for himself as she spoke fiercely, punctuated further as she slipped into Russian. He exited the room, hearing her growl, ‘You’re my son, and I’ll call you whatever I like.’    

Viktor took his place at the table, noticing that Yuuri had chosen a spot at least three seats from him. It was an improvement from a week ago when he still ate in the kitchen, but they still weren’t exactly ‘getting along’. He had expected that Yuuri would open up to him, eventually, but Viktor had never been a patient person. If he could just get him to talk a little more, he’d be satisfied.    

First things first, he thought, sliding chairs out of the way so that he could be beside Yuuri. The disheveled, raven-hair man seemed to be lost in his own world, not taking notice that Viktor had maneuvered himself next to him.    

“Hi,” he started, nervous for Yuuri’s reaction. He reacted slowly with a mute wave and a small sideways glance until the moment he realized their proximity had significantly decreased. With surprising alacrity for someone that looked barely awake, he shifted further down the table. Viktor pouted, feeling a rambunctious thrill go through him, going through the process again. Yuuri turned his head to look at him, an eyebrow rising into the bangs that flopped on his face.    

“It’s too early for this,” he moaned, his glare more half-hearted than he probably wanted. He repeated his movements, two more chairs that Viktor repositioned in kind.    

“I just want to talk,” he explained, all too happy to continue the little game as they made their way around the table.    

“We can talk fine like this. You don’t need to sit so close.” Eventually, Yuuri stopped bringing his plate and drink to stay ahead of him. Faintly, Viktor heard Aleksei talking to someone—Dmitry probably, but Yuuri stole his attention, moving yet another pair of chairs out of his way.    

“But it’s easier to talk when we’re closer together,” Viktor protested as he gave chase. 

“Why are the chairs—” 

“I’m eating in the kitchen.” 

“Good idea.” Viktor ignored them as Yuuri found himself without another chair to seat himself. Tenaciously, Yuuri took off around the length of the table, and Viktor followed him, though the curves were hard to come around as their speed increased. He grinned as they played, forgetting about breakfast entirely. 

“I’m going to catch you,” Viktor declared as Yuuri rounded the opposite side of the table, using his hands to steady himself around the corner. Viktor did the same, trying to keep at a manageable pace. 

“No way!” He  _laughed_ , and Viktor’s eyes caught the light-hearted smile that played over his features as Yuuri looked over his shoulder at him. This was what Viktor wanted, to see a positive emotion from Yuuri as a product of something that he had done. Then, Yuuri tripped.    

Viktor reacted fast enough, grabbing the wheels tight, the rubber burning his palms. His haste wasn’t rewarded as it caused him to topple out of his wheelchair, collapsing on Yuuri. Both groaned, equally bruised from the crash. Yuuri was the first to recover, attending to him with hurried motions, concern painting his face. “Are you hurt? I’m sorry—I—” Yuuri’s apologies were cut off when Viktor cupped his face in his hands. 

“I caught you,” he teased, eyes alight with mirth. Yuuri flushed crimson, brushing his hands from his face. 

“Fine,” he sighed, the smile faltering a little as he squinted at Viktor. He blinked a few times, stared for a moment, and then frowned, blinking in quick succession. 

“What’s wrong?” Viktor stayed close to him, copying Irina’s gesture of putting a hand on his shoulder. Yuuri pulled away, getting on all fours to search for something. 

“My contact fell out…” He inspected the hardwood for an invisible lens, fingers gliding over the surface searching beneath the table. His frown deepened as it became apparent he couldn’t locate it. Distress crossed his features, continuing his fruitless efforts. 

“Yuuri,” Viktor interrupted, and he paused, sitting back on his heels. “We can go out and get some more,” Viktor reassured. 

“What? No—” 

“It’s my fault, so let me fix it.” Yuuri’s face paled, stricken by his words. What was he thinking by himself, Viktor wondered with some alarm, observing how his knuckles turned white as they gripped his pants, his gaze vacant. He’d seen him look like this before, that time in the bathroom. “It’s okay.” He brought himself closer to him, touching his shoulder. Yuuri flinched, shaking beneath his touch. Viktor wasn’t sure what to do, watching how Yuuri just folded in on himself in a matter of moments. 

He withdrew his hand so that he could position himself next to Yuuri. Irina used to sit next to him like this, rubbing his back with tender circles to console him when he was upset. Viktor mimicked her motions, fingertips light against his back, carefully tracing the curves of his spine and the backs of his ribs. He felt Yuuri relax into his hand, his head lolling a little onto Viktor’s shoulder. 

When Yuuri lifted his head again, Viktor smiled, noticing that Yuuri had come back to himself. He flushed darkly, creating some distance between them. Viktor simply took hold of his hand. “Let me do this for you,” he murmured, not really letting Yuuri give him an answer in the negative. Yuuri nodded, taking back his hand. 

“Why are you on the floor?” Dmitry must have not heard their fall. 

“L-let me help you,” Yuuri stuttered, clambering to his feet and anxiously reaching out to him. His shaggy, black hair framed his worried expression, and his dark, ocher eyes sparkled wetly.   

A pang went through his heart, much like that mid-October night. 

“Just hold onto my chair, I can handle the rest,” he informed him, waiting for him to comply before lifting himself into his seat. 

“Oh good, you’re done,” Aleksei chimed in happily, but Viktor’s eyes stayed with Yuuri. “Come ice skating with us, Yuuri! Dmitry said that the lake is frozen enough to go.” His expression lifted without further coaxing, a radiant smile spreading his lips. How did Aleksei do that? Unconsciously, he gripped the wheels tight, exacerbating his raw palms. He wanted Yuuri to look at him like that. 

“Sure, I’d love—”  

“Yuuri, I’ll need to change clothes if we’re going to go to the optometrist,” he found himself saying, interrupting him. “Would you help me with that?” The smile faltered a little, and in an instant, Viktor knew how petty and controlling his words were.  

“Your eyes are perfect, though! Why do you need to go to the optometrist?” Aleksei protested emphatically, his ears turning pink.  

“It’s not for him; it’s for me,” Yuuri confessed, turning his attention to Viktor, his expression lacking the luster it had a moment ago. Viktor didn’t need help. He had been taught everything he needed to know before he left the hospital. He worked on some of the basics during his recent physical therapy session, but he couldn’t bring himself to reveal his lie. “I can help with that,” Yuuri added quietly to Viktor, the tone colder, more distant. He nodded curtly, hiding his guilt as he pushed himself around the table once more, Yuuri following mutely.  

Aleksei pouted at Viktor as they approached the crowded entrance, but he caught the exact moment realization dawned on him. His eyes went round and beamed.  

“Can I come, too?” Aleksei begged, practically bouncing on the spot as he gaped at Viktor and Dmitry. “Please! I want to help pick out your glasses!” He exclaimed, reaching out to grab Yuuri’s hands. Dmitry’s hand covered his blond head before he could, grounding Aleksei as he ruffled his hair.  

“Well, someone’s going to have to drive them.” Viktor caught Dmitry’s eye as he passed them, recognizing that he had done that on purpose. Aleksei attempted to get out from underneath Dmitry’s hold.  

“Can I drive?” He asked as they left them in the dining room, moving through the kitchen to the entry. Dmitry must have given him the affirmative because Aleksei crowed enthusiastically. It echoed off the vaulted ceiling of the foyer, punctuating the silence between them. Why does he react so badly when it’s me? Viktor pondered this as he led the way to his bedroom. He was jealous of how Aleksei was able to put Yuuri at ease. He wanted Yuuri to trust him, to be comfortable with him like that.    
“Yuuri,” he began as they took the hallway across from the kitchen’s entrance. “Do you like it here?” His inquiry tentative, not sure how the younger man would respond.   
“I’m...it’s fine.” His non-committal response was less than reassuring as they made their way down the corridor.   
“Is it just fine?” He probed, pushing himself over the hardwood as Yuuri followed behind. He didn’t answer, so Viktor slowed his approach to his room. “Well, is it?”   
“You don’t have to keep that up. We’re alone,” Yuuri snapped. Viktor glanced over his shoulder, seeing how perturbed he was by his words. 

“Doing what?”   
“This farce.” Viktor stopped in order to look at him properly. Yuuri rolled his eyes. “Pretending to care.” He avoided his gaze as he continued, “I’m not going to be here for long. I don’t need you to force yourself be my friend while I’m here.”   
“Do you think Aleksei’s forcing himself, too?” Viktor questioned, eyeing him shrewdly as Yuuri flushed scarlet. 

“That’s not—I didn’t mean—he…he’s been…really nice to me,” he stammered abashedly, eyes fixed on the floor. Viktor clenched his jaw, not pressing him any further. How does he see me, then? He worried over that thought as they approached the last door on the right. “You don’t have to depend on just Alek…”    
“I have Ira, too.” Viktor’s hand paused on the doorknob. Is it because I’m confined to this chair? He opened the door to his room, crossing the threshold.   
“I’ve never had anyone in my care before, but you can depend on me, too.” He needed to convey that Yuuri could come to him for anything, that he wanted him to be happy. He guided himself to the ornate dresser made specifically for him to house most of his wardrobe after the accident. “I…don’t want you to hate it here.” Yuuri’s footsteps stopped short of being next to him, and Viktor met his eyes. Yuuri fidgeted under his gaze, his left hand nervously reaching for his right arm, as if protecting himself. “Is that so hard to believe?” Yuuri chewed on his lower lip, breaking their eye contact. That black hair fell like a curtain over his face, shielding him from Viktor’s stare. He noticed that he still didn’t fill out the clothes Irina bought him.    
“It’s just that…you’ll get better, and then I’ll go.”   
“And what if I don’t?” Viktor voiced the fear he harbored, ignoring the pain that caused him—to never be normal again—turning back to the dresser to retrieve a shirt and slacks. “Then you’ll just be miserable.” He reversed until he was near the bed, setting his clothes on it. “I don’t want you to regret coming here.” He concentrated on unfastening the buttons of his nightshirt when a second pair of hands joined his. He sucked in a breath, feeling the warmth of a blush on his cheeks. 

“Yuuri, I—this—I really don’t need your help. I just wanted to talk with you.” Yuuri continued unbuttoning his shirt, despite his objection. 

“Then say that next time,” he chastised fiercely, his eyes never straying from their work. “Is it so hard to be honest?” Yes, Viktor thought, unable to speak as Yuuri deftly tugged the sleep pants down from his waist, much faster than Viktor had ever done himself. His eyes were transfixed by the sight as Yuuri took his light tan slacks and efficiently dressed his useless legs. He lifted himself up enough to let Yuuri bring them up over his hips, the process not taking more than a couple minutes. 

“Where are your socks?” He asked systematically, pivoting from him. Viktor followed his movements, his slight frame mesmerizing as he padded over to the dresser. Viktor’s hand reached blindly at the bed to bring his pale blue button-up into his lap, too engrossed by the sway in his hips. Did he know he was doing that? His mind was practically blank, watching him pull open the far right drawer. 

“T-top, left-most drawer.” His instructions were delayed, his heart racing. He realized a moment later he still hadn’t exchanged his shirt for the one sitting on top of his legs. He shrugged out of it, casting it aside, and drew his arms through the sleeves of the fresh one as Yuuri returned. He knelt before him to slide a pair of black, silk socks over his feet. Viktor’s fingers fastened the buttons into place, and he cursed when he realized he missed one in his haste. Yuuri’s thin fingers reached up, correcting the mistake, eyes focused on the task. 

His full lashes gave his face such a feminine cast, his pink tongue wetting his lips as they formed a pout. Yuuri glanced up then, catching Viktor’s stare. “Enjoying yourself?” The hollow tone shamed him. Yuuri stood, stepping closer to him, the murky depths of his eyes locked on his. Yuuri’s expressionless face sent chills down his spine. He didn’t feel his knee sliding over his waist, he only felt the hand on his left shoulder. He tore his eyes away, taking in how he balanced on his knees in his lap, how he knew Yuuri rolled his hips over him, but he couldn’t _feel_ it. 

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” Yuuri’s eyes were vacant and lost. Viktor swallowed thickly, shaking his head. He didn’t intend to stare so much. This wasn’t the impression he wanted to give him. Yuuri’s hands grazed over his chest, as if meaning to draw him closer. He caught Yuuri’s wrists in his hands, eyes wide as he searched Yuuri’s empty brown. 

“Not this way,” he confided, his voice firm, but mild. “I don’t want you this way.” Fat tear drops fell heavily onto Viktor’s shirt, Yuuri’s face contorting in anguish as his mouth parted in a whimper. Viktor released his wrists, his hand cradling the back of his neck, the other wrapping around his back. He pulled him into a tight hug as Yuuri wept. 

  

Yuuri sat in the waiting room chair, a headache forming from the lopsided vision. He felt weird, like a dirty, little secret in borrowed clothes. He had to admit that the clothes did fit him better than the sweats and the sweaters, but he looked like he attended private school, navy sweater pulled over a pale blue button-up. Alek reassured him it was okay, but he still felt uncomfortable. It reminded him of _after_ everything, when he bounced from home to home. Each time, he was assigned a shrink that thought they understood him, acting like what had happened could so easily be forgotten with innocuous coping strategies. 

He stared down at his trainers, not speaking even though Alek asked for Yuuri’s opinions on style, inspecting each one of the frames that lined the walls. Dmitry was outside on the phone, which left Viktor sitting next to him. He kept his eyes down. While he was filling out the forms, he had an excuse not to talk, but he knew Viktor’s eyes were on him expectantly. Ignore him, he thought, not wanting to face the reality of what had happened only fifty or so minutes ago. 

“Hey, Yuuri, Dr. Bolton here, it’s nice to meet you.” Yuuri lifted his head, attempting a smile as he stood since the man had such a cheery disposition. The doctor’s features were mostly young, a couple of wrinkles along his forehead and laugh lines around the eyes. “You’re twenty-three? Wow, that’s amazing. I would not have guessed that. All right, follow me, and we’ll get your situated.” 

The optometrist unnerved Yuuri as he led him through to the back of the office, asking questions about his schooling and his work. Yuuri gave tight-lipped answers, that he wasn’t in school and he was between jobs. He pried further, but Yuuri didn’t volunteer any other information about himself. The doctor handed him a case and solution to store his lone contact. “You’re wanting to renew your contact prescription, correct?” He tried again to further their conversation that was mostly one-sided. 

“I just need the exam for glasses,” Yuuri denied, knowing exactly how expensive it was to get both. “ _You have to work for the things I buy you, Yuuri._ ” He felt dizzy, his stomach twisting uneasily as he cast his eyes to the tile floor. The doctor crossed in front of him, guiding him to the bathroom for him to remove his contact. 

“Are you sure? You can always come back a get a prescription for your glasses, but we’ll have to retest you if you decide you want contacts.” Yuuri worked his jaw open, forcing the words out so not to appear abnormal.  

“I-I don’t need contacts,” he informed the optometrist. He lifted his head enough to see him shrug.  

“I’ll let Laura know. Just head into the room across from the bathroom when you’re finished. She’ll be with you momentarily.” Yuuri nodded mutely, watching the somewhat blurry figure walk away. He set the case and solution on the sink before lathering soap over his fingers. The shame he felt settling in once more. He turned on the hot water tap, rinsing his skin vigorously under the faucet.  

Stupid, he chided, staring at his hands as he scrubbed them. “ _Stupid, useless whore._ ” He jumped, glancing over his shoulder, but _his_ voice was just a memory. His heart clenched in his chest, and Yuuri bit his lower lip hard as the heat from the water burned his skin. His attention came back to the sink, steam beginning to rise from the faucet. He took his hands out, hissing, twisting the knob to shut off the water. He dried them on a couple paper towels, skin still stinging.  

Why the hell did you do that? His thoughts berated as he looked up, pulling down his lower eyelid. Why did you just offer yourself up to him like that? They sneered, the pad of his finger pressing against his contact lens and rolling it down his eye. You don’t—you _can’t_ want him. He carefully pinched out the soft plastic. He tossed it into the bin. It did him no good to keep the one.  

He breathed out shakily, his reflection a full blur now. He rubbed his eyes properly, the air making his eyes water. He felt Viktor’s palm against the back of his neck, a line of smooth skin noticeable in the wake of the rougher patches of his hand. His jaw tightened. Lie, he thought viciously, as he bore down on his eyelids, stars forming from the pressure. Those kind touches were always lies.  

He took his hands away from his eyes, shaking his head. It won’t get that far, he tried to convince himself. He went into the correct room, sitting down in front of the two machines that checked eye pressure and corneal shape. Laura walked in, her voice cheery.  

“Just rest your forehead against the right one first.” He did so, and she adjusted it so that it fit comfortably before moving away. “All right, just stare at the flashing light and try not to blink. I’m going to blow a little air into your eye to check its pressure.” It was the worst part about an eye test. Yuuri raised his eyebrows, willing his eyes to stay open as one puff caused him to flinch, his eyes watering as she instructed him to look at the light again.  

“Can I get a tissue?” He asked her, pulling back from the machine after the second blast of air, shutting his eyes tight.  

“Sure thing, we’re almost done. Just the left eye and your corneal mapping.” She handed him the tissue which he used to dab at his eyes before blowing his nose. The left eye took three times before he could move over to the other machine. She assisted him with the fit as he leaned against the device before positioning herself behind it.  

“There’ll be a picture that will blur in and out of focus, so just sit tight and try not to blink,” she recited, and soon a few colors and one blurry mess of a picture came to life, slowly inching into focus for him to see that it was a farm house with trees. It went from blurry to perfect several times, and then she declared he was finished.  

Yuuri sat up from the machine, wiping his eyes again with the used tissue, balling it up into his hand. “All right, just follow me, Yuuri, and Dr. Bolton will see you soon.” She led him to a darkened room, a black chair and a black mass adjacent to the chair immediately noticeable to him. She shut the door behind herself, letting him get settled.  

He caught sight of a trashcan under a little desk that held pamphlets and brochures Yuuri couldn’t read except for the large, bold print words. He tossed his thoroughly used Kleenex in the bin, snagged another to clear his sinuses, and threw that one away, too. What was taking so long? Did someone else come in while he was in the back?  

The door opened then, giving Yuuri a start. Dr. Bolton chuckled. “Sorry about that, your companion insisted that we fit you for contacts.”  

“I don’t need them,” Yuuri countered firmly. The doctor simply shrugged his shoulders.  

“I can get you a pair of contacts today, Yuuri, but cutting lenses for glasses can take up to a week. Your friend was very concerned about you being able to see.” Yuuri ground his teeth at that, forgetting that minor detail.  

“Okay,” he mumbled, finding his way to the chair. The doctor proceeded to complete the eye exam, first checking his eyes’ ability to follow his finger. The periphery test was next—five, two, three, two, one.  

“I’m going to shine a really bright light on your eyes, so just look at my right ear, good”—the light shifted—“left ear…okay up…and down… Good, you’re all set.” He turned off the light, leaving Yuuri blinking away the stars that it left in its wake. The optometrist gave him a tissue to clear his eyes before fitting the phoropter over his face. The final interrogation began.  

“One or two?”  

“Two.”  

“Okay, one or two? Does this look better, or is it just smaller and bolder.”  

“Smaller and bolder.”  

“Can you read it off for me?”  

“X, 3…N…P, Z.”  

“There aren’t any numbers.” He dialed the lenses, letting Yuuri see that the three was a ‘b’. “Try again for me.”  

“X, B, N, P, Z,” he corrected, and they continued like that until Yuuri read as fine of print as possible.  

“All right, so your prescription barely changed. You were here”—he demonstrated by flipping the lenses—“and now you’re here.” He repeated, placing the lens that let him see this just a fraction clearer. “You’re all set. Let me just get you your contacts, and we can start looking at frames for your glasses.” Yuuri followed him back to the same room as the eye examining machines. Dr. Bolton fished in a drawer before handing him one contact for each eye.  

“This one is your right, you can see I put an ‘R’ for it just in case, and this one is your left. I’ll meet you out in front. Oh, and that solution and case are for you to keep.” Yuuri went back to the bathroom, washing his hands and drying them again before opening the right eye packet first. He slipped his finger into the puddle, the slimy film clinging to his finger as he withdrew it. He dumped the liquid down the drain, setting the used packaging on the sink top. He inspected the plastic, making sure that its curve didn’t flare around the edges. He leaned into the mirror, holding his eye open as he sealed the lens against it. A bubble formed, and he carefully fixed it, moving the contact around the eye until the air pocket released. Another moment later, and he could see his reflection again.  

He frowned at it, gathering the solution and case before striding towards the front of the office. Alek bounded up to him while Viktor and Dmitry spoke quietly to each other in the background. Yuuri tensed when those blue eyes fixed on him, softening. He tore his eyes from him to see what Alek was excited to show him. 

“These ones are perfect, Yuuri! See?” Without warning, Alek fitted the glasses over his ears. Yuuri giggled a little, his exuberance infectious. He combed a few of the caught strands over the arms, raising an eyebrow at the teen.  

“How do they look?” He asked, a little self-conscious of the stare he garnered from the boy. They were practically the same height, though Alek must have grown half an inch since meeting him. Alek cooed at him, grinning brilliantly.  

“Amazing! Am I good, or what?” He opened the view for Dmitry and Viktor, daring them to tell him otherwise. Yuuri’s eyes met Viktor’s again, and he blushed, nervously raking a hand through his hair.  

“Yuuri, if you’ll sit over at the table, we can get started.” Laura returned, and Yuuri found the seat she indicated. “If you’ll hand those to me…” She waited, and he hurriedly took them off, setting them into her hand. She checked the number, entering them into the computer. Viktor slowly approached, but Yuuri refused to look at him, examining the glasses that Alek picked.  

They were modest frames, a thick band of black resin stretching across the top with black arms to rest on his ears. The lenses seemed to float in their casing. It was then that he noticed the insignia on the arm of the glasses. His attention turned to Alek, upset that he’d pick out such an expensive pair, but the protest died in his throat when he saw how pleased Alek was with his choice.  

“Would you like expedited shipping?” She questioned, tucking a lock of her brown bob behind her ear. Yuuri shook his head hastily.  

“No, that’s not—”  

“Of course, thank you, Laura,” Viktor spoke over him, and in his periphery saw the upturned corner of his mouth. She flushed pink, a smile automatically coming to her lips as she refocused on the computer screen, clicking a few times with her mouse.  

“You’re all set, how will you be paying?” Her attention returned to Viktor, her personable smile causing her green eyes to glitter.  

“Card,” Viktor responded, presenting a blank, black card. Yuuri had seen plenty of those, unlike the woman who took it with surprise at the weight. She inserted it into the chip reader, and once the machine beeped, quickly returned the card back to its owner. She tore off two pieces of paper that printed, proffering a pen for Viktor. He grasped it in his right hand, his cursive elegant and practiced like he gave autographs for a living.  

“Your glasses should be here by the end of the week. We’ll let you know once they’ve arrived.” Yuuri nodded, getting up from his seat.  

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” he muttered tersely, an unfamiliar feeling gripping him as she snuck another glance at Viktor, who gave her a genial wave. Yuuri turned around, not waiting for them to follow him out of the office.  

“Have a blessed day,” she called to them. Yuuri cringed visibly, but said nothing in return as he pushed open the door. The crisp, mid-morning air sent a shiver through his body as he shoved his hands into the pockets of the pants he wore. “Brr,” he breathed out as he followed the path to the sidewalk, mist forming in front of his face. The temperature had likely dropped into the negatives.  

“It’s not nearly as cold as Russia,” Dmitry responded, taking the stairs down to the walkway. Yuuri gave a start, taking a step backwards, his hands jerking out of their pockets to press firmly against his chest. He hadn’t heard Dmitry leave, and the man chuckled darkly at his jumpiness.  

“I wouldn’t know,” he said dryly when he recovered, eyeing him sourly. Viktor and Alek exited the office before Yuuri felt obligated to ask how cold it got there. Once Viktor passed the threshold, the youngest hopped over the railing, ignoring the two, more viable choices to reach the sidewalk. He stumbled into Yuuri, catching him around his left arm playfully.  

“Why were you in such a hurry?” He questioned, grinning toothily at him. Yuuri didn’t quite meet his gaze.  

“I just needed some fresh air.”  

“Aleksei, there are stairs and a ramp for a reason.” Viktor spoke with authority, a stern look overcoming his features. Yuuri caught Alek’s pout from the corner of his eye.  

“Come on, I was just having some fun,” Alek complained, his voice a higher pitch than usual as Viktor descended the ramp to meet them. His brows pulled together, frowning at Alek’s reckless behavior. Alek withered beneath his stare, any further retort lost on his lips. He gave a guttural sigh, letting go of Yuuri’s arm and stomping up towards Dmitry. The two of them led the way back to the car as the street bustled with cars and passersby.  

Unexpectedly, warm fingers wrapped around his right hand. “Shall we?” Yuuri flinched from the touch, but Viktor didn’t relinquish his hold, opting instead to lace their fingers. Yuuri bit his lip, glancing around them. Something felt off about him doing this in such a public place. Viktor didn’t say anything else, but he squeezed his hand gently, as if to reassure him before he guided them after Alek and Dmitry. 

“Isn’t the sidewalk slippery?” Yuuri asked tentatively as Viktor casually pushed himself along. They moved at a leisurely pace compared to the pair ahead, despite the cold temperatures. His hand felt hot where their hands joined. He wanted to take it back from him, feeling uncertain about the affectionate gesture. 

“Not really,” Viktor answered, flashing him with that brilliant smile of his. Yuuri’s heart fluttered in his chest, and he dropped his gaze to the concrete, heat rising to his cheeks too freely. 

“Oh.” He watched as he placed one foot in front of the other, never breaking stride with Viktor’s motions. “Th-thank you,” he mumbled, keeping his eyes cast to the ground. Again, Viktor’s grip tightened for a moment in response. 

“You don’t have to thank me, Yuuri,” he breathed, and unbiddenly, Yuuri grinned. Immediately, his teeth drew in his lip, worrying on it to stop the expression from showing. He lifted his eyes, the odd sensation of eyes boring into his back causing him to paused in the middle of the sidewalk. Viktor stopped, too, but Yuuri glanced behind himself, looking to see if someone was following them. 

“What is it?” Viktor inquired, and Yuuri shook his head, turning back to him. 

“Nothing, it’s nothing.” He gave Viktor a small smile, pressing on as he pushed down the sense of trepidation. Why would anyone be watching them? 


	4. Panic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may or may not be the second to the last chapter. We shall see as I write the 5th if I underestimated the length. Again, thank you all for bearing with me and my slow updates! You all are amazing.
> 
> *Please read the updated tags.

Yuuri pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he peered down at the book he pulled from the shelf. A navy spine that faded into ashen blue with silver, embossed letters, binding manila pages of an old story he knew too well. He was in the English section of the library— _there was a fully stocked library in the house_ —looking for something to entertain himself. Drawn to the book despite his history with it, his thumbs pried open the pages at the middle, minding the pulp sheets. The glue cracked, dust releasing into the air as he read a few lines about the cruel man set on revenge. The book seemed like it hadn’t been opened in a long time, the faint, cozy traces of vanilla tinged with soft, bittersweet almond wafting from the leaves. Viktor had said he read most of the books, and Yuuri wondered idly if he had read this one. Probably not, given its obvious disuse.

His eyes drifted from the book to Viktor on the ground floor, his right hand moving across a page, making notes in a ledger before setting down that writing utensil for another on the desk. He indulged a few more lines, revealing how a foolish woman fell in love with that man set on regaining that which meant the most to him. He swallowed thickly, his free hand clutching at the bookshelf. His knuckles whitened as his grip tightened over the wood.

“ _Your parents weren’t good people. But, I promise that I will be._ ” The blood leaked from their bodies, seeping and staining hardwood floors. The knees of his pants were soaked through, and he smeared crimson over his clothes trying to wipe the heavy liquid off. He shut his eyes tight, nostrils flaring as he exhaled slowly. His fingernails bit into the wood, scraping some of the finish while his thumb pinched the novel into his palm. Yuuri took in a deep breath, blinking to see the wall of books again.

Had Viktor noticed? The light scratching of pen on paper told him no, but Yuuri glanced down at him all the same. Intent on his work, Yuuri watched his dark, aqua eyes rove over the information he handled, his mouth murmuring unspoken words. Yuuri’s lips tugged upwards as he released the bookcase, closing the book and tucking it under his arm so he could descend the ladder. He caught himself mid-climb, his hand grabbing the lower half of his face as his heart thrummed in his chest.

He didn’t want this to become his life again. Even deplorable people appeared kindly at first.

Yuuri forced down the saliva building in his throat. “Which is your favorite?” He questioned as he stepped further down the ladder, trying to distract himself, to stop the anxiousness he felt.

“Favorite what?” He sounded amused, and it was most likely because Yuuri didn’t ask him many questions about himself.

“Book,” Yuuri replied, carefully guiding himself lower, focusing on each hand and foothold.

“A fairytale book,” Viktor acknowledged cryptically. Yuuri paused at the final rung; the fairytales he knew all ended with children taken away from their families or eaten or some other terrible fate. He wasn’t particularly fond of them. “Mama read it to me when I was little,” Viktor added, cueing him to participate in the conversation. Gone were the days when Viktor offered information with the slightest provocation. He had learned Yuuri’s tactics to avoid answering questions about himself.

With Alek, keeping the exchange on the kid was simple. Yuuri only had to bring up Sailor, mention Mr. Hayman, or ask about the latest fashion trends, and Alek would completely forget about his questions. The flow of conversation would seamlessly flow into things he enjoyed about her, a rant about how his English teacher bothered him, or how it was a shame people were still wearing plaid.

Viktor, however, wasn’t distracted so easily and made every attempt to find out more about him. Any strategies he applied to evade Alek’s probing words were spectacularly unsuccessful when used on Viktor, especially since they spent so much time together now. If he slipped up again, Viktor would surely learn everything about   _him_  or what  _he_  did back then, and the thought alone made Yuuri tremble. He didn’t want Viktor to know about that. No, _everyone_ , he reprimanded himself as he walked towards Viktor. I don’t want  _everyone_  to find out. He needed that to be clear in his mind; he needed to keep his wits about him.

“Do you have a favorite book?” Viktor caved, trying to keep Yuuri talking. He felt a little self-conscious to say the book’s title, so he changed the subject.

“How was physical therapy?” It was a failsafe in place to remind him that his time here wasn’t forever.

“Fine, nothing’s changed,” he replied mildly, his pen scratching over the ledger for a moment before picking up his pencil again. He didn’t resume writing; however, his eyes lifted to meet Yuuri’s. One of his thin, curved brows quirked up, silently calling him out for the shift in topic. Yuuri strode with purpose towards the chair he brought to the desk prior to scaling the ladder, mostly ignoring the look he gave him. Viktor was surprisingly resilient to his predicament. He never seemed down about it, as if he had already come to terms with it. Yuuri wondered if he was just putting on a brave face like him.

“Are you okay with that?” The question passed his lips as he thought it, and immediately reached up to cover his mouth. Heat radiated from his cheeks onto his cold hand, and he didn’t have the courage to check Viktor’s expression. He settled into his armchair, anticipating a reaction. Mutely, his throat clenched, Yuuri let the book fall open on his lap. He waited stiffly, eyes fixed on the tiny font.

A long thumb and fingers entered Yuuri’s vision as Viktor leaned over him. Without asking permission, they plucked the book from his lap, and Yuuri followed its departure, catching the face Viktor made.

“Please tell me this isn’t your favorite book,” he implored, as he read the top margin. Yuuri felt heat creep down his neck, becoming defensive.

“So, what if it is?” Viktor’s beautiful eyes widened at the honesty, recently moistened lips parting slightly. They closed, the corner pulling into a smirk as Viktor regarded him. As his platinum bangs fell effortlessly over his face, Yuuri felt his heartbeat quicken, expecting the worst.

“It’s just that I don’t see you relating to those characters.” Yuuri flushed deeply, self-consciously looking away from him. That wasn’t where he thought Viktor would go with that.

“Do I have to relate to them to like the book?” He asked his crossed feet, eyes fixed on them as his toes curled and uncurled in distress.

“No, but it helps.” Telling him the person he related to in the book was impossible. She wasn’t a main character, and she gave her all to receive nothing in return. He  _can’t_  know about  _him_ , he worried, hands shaking a little. He drew his fingers into his palms to stop the tremors before Viktor saw.

“Can I have my book back, please?” Surprisingly, his voice didn’t betray him. Viktor silently placed it on his lap, the pages left open for him to pick up where he left off. As Yuuri took the book into one hand, fingers wound through the other. Yuuri sucked in a breath, still not used to the action. His eyes darted from the page to their joined hands, staring at how Viktor’s enveloped his. Heat seeped into his palm, his skin nearly as ashen as Viktor’s.

The man chuckled to himself, his fingers curling tight around Yuuri’s for a brief moment before returning to his work. His grip softened, and Yuuri knew he could take back his hand without repercussions. Ever since the first time he did it, Viktor pursued the innocent gesture at any opportunity, but Yuuri always had a choice in the matter.

This is fine, isn’t it? It doesn’t mean anything, and there are worse things he could do. His dismissive thoughts did little to convince his doubt, but his heart felt heavy at the idea of stealing it away.

“It’s almost lunchtime,” Viktor mentioned, his thumb drawing circles against his skin. Yuuri didn’t answer, ignoring how his stomach fluttered from the touch. “Want to get something?”

“I’ll get something for you,” he offered instead, not looking away from the literature he held between his thumb and fingers. Viktor merely clicked his tongue, his warm fingers leaving his skin. Yuuri refused to acknowledge how empty his hand felt, left open against the arm of his chair.

“I can wait.” Viktor resumed transferring numbers from receipts to the leather-bound folio. Yuuri brought his freed hand to hold the other side of his book, listening to the passes Viktor made with pencil, then pen. The rhythmic etching noises let Yuuri relax into the armchair and sneak glances at him from the corner of his eye. His legs slowly draped over the side furthest away from the desk, his back braced against the arm closest so that he could watch Viktor under the guise of reading. It fascinated him that Viktor did the math all in his head, his lips the only indication as he puzzled out the equations.

“You know; the New Year’s party is soon.” Yuuri’s attention immediately snapped to his book, anxiety causing the back of his neck to feel feverish. He pretended not to hear him, worried that he had caught him staring. “We still don’t have a tux for you,” Viktor hedged around the question he wanted to ask.

“I really don’t want to go,” Yuuri confessed. “Too many people.”  His role was that of entertainment. He only knew what it was like to have people regard him from on high. They wanted his body in their presence, twisting and swaying to the provocative music. They didn’t need anything else from him. How did Viktor expect him to mingle with those people; he only knew how to  _please_  those people.

“You could just stay with me during the party,” Viktor coaxed, reading Yuuri’s mind unerringly, leaning over him just enough to nudge his book away from his face. Yuuri tilted his head back to see Viktor’s sincere expression, silver hair accentuating the hue his eyes cast, like the sea after a storm. Those eyes paired with that smile wore him down, making his protest hesitant and lacking his usual, vehement bite.

“I’m no good at parties. Really,” he tried to argue, but Viktor saw through him.

“You are probably the life of the party,” he dissented, a smirk playing over his lips. Yuuri felt his heart leap into his throat. “Besides, Alek really wants you to meet Sailor. You wouldn’t miss that, would you?” No, he couldn’t; the kid had been talking about her as long as Yuuri had been a guest in the Nikiforov Manor. He saw the twinkle in Viktor’s eyes, knowing exactly which buttons to push to get Yuuri to consider what he wanted. It unnerved him that he fell for the manipulation every time, but he did care about Alek and what he wanted.

“No…but Viktor I—” It was more than enough for Viktor to be carried away, cutting off the rest of Yuuri’s words.

“Let’s go then. I don’t need to have these finished until tomorrow. We can get you something fitted so it’s ready in time.” Yuuri moved out from under Viktor’s gaze, straightening in the chair as his eyes studied the stack of papers that lay abandoned on the desk.

“I-Is that really okay? I could borrow something from Alek—then you could finish your…work…” The look of pure incredulity on Viktor’s face caused him to trail off.

“Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“I don’t have one.” Viktor breathed out a laugh, shaking his head at him. Yuuri resumed his attempt to resist. “I-I thought Dmitry wasn’t going to be back for a few more hours?”

“Don’t worry about it, Yuuri.” Viktor’s hand slipped effortlessly into his, and Yuuri chewed on the inside of his cheeks at the skinship. “We have other people who can take us.”

“Alek’s at school…does Ira know how to drive?” He raised an eyebrow at him as he inquired, the matriarch of the family still mostly a mystery to him despite their friendliness. Viktor chortled under his breath, his right hand fishing out a thin, silver device from his front-shirt pocket.

“We have other drivers,” he murmured idly, unlocking his phone with his thumbprint. It clicked open, and his thumb padded over the screen.

“Viktor, wait.” Viktor gaze barely met his, but he must have seen the panic there. He stopped searching through his phone, all of his attention on him.

“What’s wrong?” Yuuri swallowed heavily. It’s too much. You’re too much.

“It’s nothing,” he mumbled, not meeting his eyes.

“If you say so.” Viktor didn’t push him, and he squeezed his hand gently before releasing it.

 

“Yuuri, please, don’t make a fuss.”

“I—Viktor, this is too much,” Yuuri hissed at Viktor, who led the way to the frosted insignia that spread over the large, glass doors of the shop’s entrance. It was one thing to own glasses that cost too much because of their brand; it was another thing entirely to have a suit tailor-made that would cost even more. Viktor chuckled, the doors opening for them. Two immaculate men smiled sincerely at Viktor, as though they knew him.

“Viktor! Welcome back, it’s been too long,” the man on the right simpered. Yuuri shrank away from him, hoping that they wouldn’t see him hiding behind Viktor. It was midday, and he couldn’t hide properly behind him. “And who is this charming, young fellow with you?” Yuuri blanched, causing both men’s smiles to widen.

“Yuuri, he’s going to accompany me to my parents’ New Year’s Eve party. I need you to help me dress him up a bit.” Yuuri’s eyes bulged as one of the men took him by his arm.

“Viktor…” Yuuri pled as the man who held his arm led him away, talking a mile a minute about his eyes and  _petite_  figure.

“Stand there, sweetie.” His voice was higher than most men. Flustered, Yuuri stood on the block indicated by the attendant. “Please, look straight ahead, dear. Otherwise, it won’t come out perfect.” Yuuri tore his eyes from Viktor, speaking with the director of the shop. He stared straight ahead, his raven mane brushing the collar of his shirt. He reached up, tugging at a lock, watching his hand in the mirror. He really needed to get it cut. The assistant clucked at his elbow, “Your arm, too.”

“S-sorry,” he stuttered under his breath, dropping his arm and standing tall. He saw the man purse his lips for a moment before gathering his composure. The man didn’t seem dangerous, not with his soft features, but Yuuri was wary of him.

“Relax, honey. I’m not going to bite,” he soothed, fingers deftly wrapping the tape around his wrist. Yuuri was this man’s captive as he mentally took down each length, meticulously stretching the tape across his back, around his chest and waist.

“Honey, are you eating enough? You’re still growing, after all.” Yuuri shot the man an affronted look, actually seeing him for the first time. He had a manicured beard, hazel-blue eyes that bore into Yuuri like a mother’s might. “Don’t get me wrong, darling, I would kill for your figure, but cake and alcohol are too much to give up!”

“I-I don’t drink much,” Yuuri found himself saying, feeling awkward as the man stepped in close to take his neck measurement.

“How’s this, not too tight, right?” Yuuri swallowed, noticing how they were at eye level with each other despite his being on a four-inch platform. He averted his gaze, uncomfortable with their proximity.

“Yeah, it’s…fine,” he breathed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, struggling against the instinct to flee the situation.

“Miguel, really, be nice to the poor boy. It is his first time,” the director called, and Miguel backed off, shrugging.

“Okay, Rafael, okay,” he conceded, smirking at Yuuri. His uneasiness heightened. “You’re done, sweetie. Be sure to get some meat on those bones,” he teased with a wink. Yuuri carefully stepped down from the box, still eyeing Miguel.

“Yuuri, please, join me over here,” Rafael called to him. Yuuri hesitantly turned his back on Miguel, walking towards them. “Unfortunately, due to the time restriction on this, I can’t offer the full line; however, we have plenty of suits that will look spectacular on you.” The director guided Yuuri to where some of the premade suits hung in the window, a hand pressing into the small of his back. This, too, gave him apprehension, and he stole a glance at Viktor, who had his hands folded in his lap. He sat there, unperturbed but expectant, and Yuuri’s hope fizzled.

Hope? He questioned that feeling, returning his attention to the director as he thumbed through a selection of suits.

“Personally, I think something like this”—he plucked a hanger amid the navy suits and held it out for Yuuri to see—“would complement  _such fair skin_.” Yuuri’s eyes bulged, his teeth grating together as his jaw clenched. Not here, breathe, he told himself, exaggerating the motions. The man reversed it so he could inspect how it compared to him, humming in approval. He pulled out a similar black suit, shaking his head. Yuuri took in another steadying breath, trying to ground himself as Rafael returned the black and selected another navy suit. The director clicked his tongue, extending and retracting each suit as he compared them to Yuuri. He then gathered the two pieces in one hand.

“What do you think, Viktor?” Rafael’s hand gripped around Yuuri’s upper arm. Don’t touch me, he thought at the man as he positioned him to face Viktor. “I think it rounds his features out nicely, don’t you?” Yuuri flushed, not wanting to play dress up anymore. “ _But I want to play, Yuuri._ ” He shut his eyes tight, willing the memory to go away. That won’t happen again, he vowed. When he opened them, Viktor’s forefinger rested against his lips, thumb sticking out as he mulled over the selection. His attention didn’t deviate from the suits.

“Show me the midnight one again?” The man held up the second option, and for a split second, their eyes met. Does he see what this is doing to me? Viktor brightened immediately, clapping his hands together once. He didn’t see, his focus only for the outfit Yuuri would wear. “Yes! That one will do nicely.”

“Of course, Viktor. Shall we size him for shoes, as well?” I’m not a doll, he tried to say, but the words caught in his throat.

“He’s an eight and a half, right, Yuuri?” When did he find that out? Yuuri couldn’t find his mouth to answer, finally able to take a step back from Rafael. Viktor approached them, eyes searching Yuuri as he repeated his question. Yuuri forced himself to nod, their voices hazy.

“That’s settled, and you wanted the full ensemble.”

“Yes, black tie to match the shoes, please.” Yuuri’s vision swam, his throat closing. He stumbled a little as he backed further away, unable to fight his need to run. His feet barely got underneath him as he turned, bolting for the door.

If Viktor called for him, he didn’t hear it over his pulse pounding in his ears. He shoved his weight against the glass door, feeling a blast of cold air hit his face. It knocked the wind out of his lungs, and he gasped without taking in any of the air. He coughed, choking as he forced himself to breathe. His eyes and nose watered as he wrapped his arms around himself, trying to self-soothe.

His body tingled as he squinted into the daylight—an aftershock of the panic attack. Yuuri kept his arms close to his body, one hand reaching to rub his shoulder. He still felt tense. That was normal, too. A breeze lifted the strands, wafting them across his face. His heart continued to beat hard in his chest. The left side of his body sensed someone’s stare, and he peeked from the corner of his eye.

A man approached, all in black. Yuuri froze, watching as the distance between them decreased. He tipped the brim of his hat low over his face.

“Yuuri, come back inside to wait. It’s too cold out here.” Yuuri started, tripping as one shoe caught the back of the other’s. He managed to keep his balance, the man in black never breaking in stride. Yuuri never saw his face, but something felt off about him. “Yuuri.” He looked back at Viktor.

“Sorry—I…sorry,” he mumbled, ashamed. Viktor reached out a hand to him.

“It’s okay, just come inside. It’s freezing.”

 

Viktor tapped his fingers against his thigh impatiently waiting for Yuuri to answer. He heard him shuffling around on the other side of the door, but he didn’t speak. Aleksei left with Dmitry to pick up Sailor, leaving him the only one ready for the evening in the house. He knocked on Yuuri’s door a second time, too keyed up to give him an appropriate amount of time to respond.

“I’m not ready—this tie—”

“I can help with that,” he offered to Yuuri’s mumblings, his face too close to the door.

“I can do it myself!” Yuuri shot him down, panic evident in his voice. Viktor fingered his sterling silver cufflinks, tracing the interlocking G.

“No one said you couldn’t—”

“Just go! I—I need a minute.”

“Yuuri…” Viktor didn’t want to fight with him, especially not tonight. “Alek and Sailor are going to be here after dinner.”

“I know, and I’ll be there! I just…I can get ready on my own. Please,” he begged dejectedly. Viktor sighed heavily, pressing his palm flat against the painted wood. Don’t say it like you want me to stay, he chided Yuuri in his head, more reluctant to leave.

“Okay, I’ll see you there.” Strength of will pulled him away from the door, his hands turning the wheels of his chair in a series of small movements. He didn’t blame Yuuri for being nervous. He was anxious, too. New Year’s Eve never failed to be the event that awed and amazed anyone invited. New Year’s Eve was the last and the first celebration of a year, and Jasper and Irina always delivered a memorable party to their esteemed guests. A grand dinner served with handcrafted cocktails made special for the occasion followed by a live band and ballroom dancing until midnight. Then they would toast to the new year with champagne imported from France, and a few of the guests would retire with Jasper to an upper salon to commence further discussions that often devolved into poker games.

Viktor rolled down the hall, guiding himself to the corridor that hid behind the stairs and to the left of the entrance. He usually had a date to return home by the time Jasper and his friends excused themselves, and sometimes, if her company was agreeable enough, he’d stay the night with her. Not this year, though, he thought as he passed the glass panes that showed off the courtyard. He promised to remain by Yuuri’s side for the evening. He paused, catching the inviting glow of scarlet and amber pulsing in his periphery. He faced the window to better see the basin of fire rocks gleaming against the white of the snow.

Flames entangled as they licked the air, stretching up as though each tongue could taste more if they tried. It danced merrily, swaying with and against the wind as it burned. Viktor wondered if Yuuri would stand out there with him. If he’d let him kiss him in such an intimate setting.

The dull ache in his back flared suddenly, and Viktor grimaced, the reminder more than enough to keep those thoughts in check. He stretched in his seat, a part of him feeling guilty over the advances he made, not sure how Yuuri felt about them. He used to flinch when he held his hand, but Viktor noticed that he didn’t cower from him as much. Their conversations weren’t verbose by any measure, but Yuuri spoke with him more in recent days than he had previously. Viktor buried his face into his palms, heartbeat quickening as he relived the smirk he earned from Yuuri the day before. Their eyes met for a moment, and Viktor caught the blush.

But did that mean anything?

He sighed audibly, hands wiping down his face, pulling the skin slightly. He pressed forward towards the doors at the end of the corridor.

 

Dinner came and went, but Viktor couldn’t focus on the meal or the elaborate mixed drinks. Yuuri had yet to appear, even as the tables were cleared away by the bustling servers. He moved out of the way of the caterers, closer to the New Year’s tree Irina decorated that morning. The spruce glimmered with silver and gold bobbles and stars, tinsel winding its way up to the bright star that set on top. The band began to set up on the stage, the musicians tentatively warming up with the hum of conversation. He saw movement in the corner of his eye, and he glanced over that the entrance to the ballroom.

Dmitry held open the door, and Viktor caught a glimpse of Aleksei’s white tux. He gingerly led a young woman through the entry, minding the fact that she wore heels for the occasion. The girl was beautiful; Viktor had to hand it Aleksei. Her eyes shone brightly, sparkling almost as much as the applique on her salmon pink dress. It fit her figure, hugging her curves softly, chiffon straps holding up the sweetheart neckline. Aleksei glowed next to her, eyes never leaving her form. It distracted him.

“You must be Sailor!” Viktor exclaimed, beaming at her as they approached. She gave him a toothy smile, nodding.

“Yes, and you’re Viktor? It’s really nice to meet you.” She reached out her hand, and Viktor took it. Mischievously, instead of shaking it, he kissed her knuckles. The inaudible gasp and her eyes widening in surprise were reward enough. Aleksei shot him a glare, but gracefully extracted his date from him.

“Don’t mind him, he likes to shock people,” he told Sailor, who giggled good-naturedly. Aleksei bent down to him, all smiles as he whispered into his ear. “Do not blow this for me,” he begged, an edge to his voice that Viktor had never heard. He chuckled under his breath, causing Aleksei to pinch him on the arm. “I’m serious!” He hissed before standing up straight, adjusting the front of his coat.

“Oh! Is that your mom and dad?” Sailor cooed exuberantly.

“Yes, that’s them,” Viktor answered for Aleksei, seeing how her body turned towards the center of the ballroom. Two statuesque people cut through the crowd, resplendent in their matching, aventurine velvet ensemble. Irina wore a deep red lipstick, contrasting with her snowy skin and the dark green of her dress. The simple, A-line cut hung over her frame as if she were a model cut straight from a magazine, the cape and her pulled back, white-blonde hair accentuating her plunging neckline. Jasper completed the look, wearing a deep tourmaline coat over a black, cable knit sweater and charcoal trousers, his white sideburns combed behind his ears to contrast with his slate grey hair. Irina’s face was alight with excitement while Jasper’s steely gaze didn’t move from a spot behind Aleksei and Sailor. Viktor leaned to see around the young couple, a man in dark blue awkwardly tugging at the sleeves of his jacket. He tried not to sigh in relief.

“Sailor! Lyosha has said so many good things!”

“ _Mom_ ,” Aleksei moaned while Sailor tittered. Viktor excused himself from the group, knowing he wouldn’t be missed with Sailor to distract his aunt and uncle. He wheeled himself in the direction of the doors. Yuuri seemed lost, weight shifting over his toes as he looked around at the guests.

“Looking for someone?” He asked smoothly, and Yuuri spun on the spot, the expression of someone overwhelmed. Viktor gave him a reassuring smile as one of the caterers approached them, offering champagne. Viktor declined, but Yuuri took it appreciatively, downing the contents in one long, hasty gulp.

“Thirsty?” Viktor teased, surprised at Yuuri hurriedly drinking the alcohol. Yuuri’s cheeks turned pink from the intake.

“No…” His hands fidgeted around the empty glass, his eyes fixed on it.

“Do…you want to go outside?” Viktor hedged, and Yuuri looked at him uncomfortably.  

“I just got here,” he weakly protested.

“We don’t have to do laps around the room, Yuuri. I’m here with  _you_. If the crowd’s too much, we can go into the courtyard for a bit.” Viktor rolled a little past him, indicating with his head a door in the far-right corner in the room. Yuuri took in a deep breath and followed him. However, not before grabbing a second glass of champagne. Within seconds, he finished that one, too.

“The goal is to make it to midnight,” Viktor jibed, smirking at him.

“It’s fine, I-I can handle it.” Viktor wasn’t sure if that was in response to his joke or his offer to abandon the party for a moment. Yuuri brushed his hair back, a couple of black strands falling out of place and onto his forehead. He gave him a smile. “Thanks.”

“For what?” Yuuri didn’t say anything immediately, as if he was weighing his words. He opened his mouth, but shut it, shaking his head.

“Never mind,” he murmured, handing off his glass to another server. “Have Alek and Sailor arrived?” Viktor let him be ambiguous, pointing over at the white and pink couple twirling each other on the dance floor. He looked on the wistful scene. Yuuri placed a hand on his shoulder, tearing Viktor’s attention away from his brother. “Let’s go say hi,” Yuuri declared with a confidence he barely recognized.

 

It was nearly midnight, and Yuuri bewitched any that watched him, occasionally cutting in to dance with Aleksei or Sailor.

“Liar,” he whispered under his breath, watching as Yuuri politely stepped in, taking Sailor by the hand. “You’re great at parties.” Her beautiful tan skin shone brilliantly against the rose quartz dress as he led their dance. Her flowing locks of black hair curled in spirals for the evening, bouncing against her back with their movements. The girl was a delight. Viktor’s eyes followed them, waiting until he could see Yuuri’s expression as they waltzed on the dance floor. He smirked at her, releasing her spinning her back into him. Viktor heard her laugh, and Yuuri moved them in time with the music. Sailor stumbled a couple times, but Yuuri reset and started again each time. He guided her over the floor, his eyes locked on hers. He drew her in as the song changed tempo, swaying slowly. Aleksei tapped Yuuri on the shoulder, and he relinquished Sailor to her date.

Yuuri had another glass of champagne in his hand when he came back to him. Idly, Viktor wondered how many that was for him. I have had six…seven…? He mentally shrugged it off as Yuuri leaned into him. Viktor raised an eyebrow at him as he clicked his flute to his almost finished glass. Viktor’s lips quirked up automatically at the corner, and Yuuri stood tall. He seemed so regal, the deep blue bringing out a soft glow to his skin. He was glad he had it made for him.

His eyes were dark despite the well-lit room. Viktor laughed, his smile spreading across lips. He could tell Yuuri’s eyes were glazing over just a little. “Yuuri, I’m kind of tired, aren’t you?” Aleksei and Sailor were off dancing, giggling with each other. Yuuri sipped his drink, eyes meeting his. He blushed a little, smirking at him under the rim of the flute.

“A little,” he murmured, meeting Viktor’s gaze. He grinned at him, feeling some of the effects of the alcohol he imbibed. The clock began its countdown. The crowd joined in, the music stopped, and the walls echoed with cries of, “Five…four…”

“Want to get out of here?” He asked casually, not wanting Yuuri to pass out on the dance floor.

“Three…two…”

“Sure,” Yuuri agreed without convincing. Viktor wasn’t expecting him to be ready to leave the party.

“One…Happy New Year!” They cheered excitedly, whistles and shouts of Russian booming in the ballroom. Yuuri finished off his glass, handing it off to a nearby caterer.

“Let’s get you to bed, _old man_ ,” he teased, fingering Viktor’s platinum locks. Viktor gaped at him, unable to come up with a response before Yuuri sauntered off towards the exit. His slower wit must have been due to the alcohol. Maybe I shouldn’t have had that last drink of scotch, he thought with chagrin, trailing after Yuuri. Down the hallway, through the entry, it felt longer than he was used to under the influence. Yuuri wobbled slightly as he walked ahead, and through the haze, Viktor noticed he stopped at the wrong door.

“Yuuri, where are you going?” He asked as the younger man opened the door to his room.

“I’m going to help you to bed. That’s okay, right?” Viktor breathed out a sigh. Of course, it was, but he wasn’t sure about it being okay right _now_.

“It’s okay,” he started, wheeling himself up to the threshold next to him. “But I can put myself to bed.”

“I don’t mind.” His breath was hot against the shell of his ear, distracting him as Yuuri pushed him through the entryway of his room. Viktor shot him a disgruntled look before guiding himself to the bed and transferred to sitting on it. He bent down, pulling off his shoes without unlacing them. They clattered on the floor as he dropped them, but he paused as he removed his socks. He heard the door shut followed by the patter of feet as they approached. He stared in the direction of the door, the dark room barely revealing the silhouette as clothes rustled and made a soft _fwump_ as they were discarded.

“Yuuri…” Viktor exhaled slowly as he came into view, bare chested, his hands reaching to unfasten his jacket and the buttons of his shirt. He grabbed them, stopping their ministrations. Viktor felt him lean into him, his warm forehead touching his. The sickly-sweet scent of champagne lingered in the air as Yuuri’s lips ghosted over Viktor’s. His grip slackened, his heart beating irregularly as Yuuri smirked into their kiss. He shoved the shirt down Viktor’s arms, and Viktor shivered from the exposure.

A hand cradled the back of his neck as Yuuri withdrew, the wet heat of his mouth suckling against his neck. The pressure sent a shock through him, and Viktor bit his lip as Yuuri elicited a moan from him. Teeth grazed along the base of his throat, teasing at his collarbone.

“Yuuri,” he whispered more insistently through the cloud in his mind, his hands reaching up to press against his chest. Unwittingly, he anticipated the feel of his skin beneath his fingers, supple and smooth. He shut his eyes, taking a steadying breath. God only knew how much he wanted this. Yuuri resisted, trying to decrease the distance, but Viktor was still the stronger of the two despite his predicament. “Wait…”

“I don’t want to,” he breathed, voice pitched lower, filled with the unstated want. Viktor’s brain fought with his desire to be closer to him. “Let me,” he insisted, hands covering his own. Viktor’s tenuous grasp on control slipped, and Yuuri pried a hand from his chest. His tongue ran along the palm, and Viktor quivered as he licked over his thumb. He traced the outline, lightly flicking the pad of it. He let his fingers cup around Yuuri’s jaw as he encased the digit in his mouth. His tongue wrapped around it, suckling while scraping the underside with his teeth.

“Christ,” he swore, mesmerized by the sight, his obsidian eyes never leaving his as he teased the appendage. Viktor drew him down to him, fingers tangling into his midnight hair as he brought their lips together with a bruising force. His tongue wound about Yuuri’s, who hummed appreciatively as Viktor sucked against the appendage.

Fingertips traced down his waist, and he felt Yuuri’s knuckles brush against his stomach as he worked open his pants. “Yuuri—Yuuri, I—I can’t feel it,” he murmured hastily, breaking the kiss and gazing into his lusting eyes. Viktor wished he could. He wanted to ravage this beauty with his dark brown eyes and long black hair. The cream of his skin reddened with his remark, but he didn’t pursue undressing him further.

“I still want you,” he whispered reassuringly as he covered his lips, letting his hands explore that which he pined for the better part of nine months. He felt Yuuri shiver as he traced his chest. He kissed along his jaw and mouthed his delicate neck. Yuuri whimpered under the weight, leaning into Viktor’s touch as the pads of his fingers tensed around his slim waist. He hauled Yuuri forward, causing him to straighten. Viktor’s teeth grazed his flesh as consequence, his mouth travelling further down his body. Viktor glanced up at him through his lashes, Yuuri’s eyes fluttering shut as he ran his palm over the crotch of his tailored pants. He petted him through the cloth, a soft noise escaping Yuuri from the frottage.

“Fuck, Yuuri…can I…?” Viktor gripped him, watching how his eyes rolled at the touch. Yuuri nodded, biting back a moan. Viktor leaned into him, lips brushing over the top of his waistband. “Say it,” he commanded, his voice more like a growl in his ear.

“Yes, _please_ ,” he complied earnestly. God, I want more than just this, he thought, wanting to hear that voice cry out. He took his time, unfastening the closures to his trousers with care. He gripped the sides, tugging them down just enough to pool around Yuuri’s ankles. Viktor stole a peek at Yuuri’s parted lips as his fingers dipped below the waistband of his shorts. He licked his own as he unveiled his hard cock.

Viktor smirked, hand wrapping around the base and stroking firmly. Yuuri hissed, hips rocking into his hand, the sinew pliant over his taut member. Viktor bowed his head, tongue curving around the tip, teasing the intimate skin. He twisted his wrist as he enveloped more of the head, suckling as he massaged the shaft. Yuuri gasped, his fingers finding purchase in Viktor’s hair, straining against the strands as his dick slipped further into Viktor’s mouth. His saliva dripped down to his hand, lubricating the steady jerk of his hand as he pulled back to breathe for a moment. He flicked his tongue against the tip, extorting its sensitivity to hear Yuuri’s hushed whine. His fingers yanked on his hair, almost painfully, hips bucking against Viktor’s hand.

“Ah—I…I’m—” Viktor didn’t pull away, despite the warning. Yuuri knees shook as the orgasm gripped him, and Viktor swallowed around him, eagerly tasting the viscous heat. He continued to stroke him, milking him for more of the salty-sweet liquid. He slurped away the excess, licking him clean before withdrawing from him. Yuuri’s grip on his hair loosened, his hands curving on either side of Viktor’s face. Their lips met again, Yuuri’s tongue slipping inside and languidly drawing Viktor’s into his mouth.

When he pulled back from him, he finished undressing himself, crawling into the bed and beneath the covers. Viktor smiled affectionately, taking off his shirt but not bothering with the hassle of removing his pants. He pushed himself over to the empty spot on the bed, laboriously shifting his weight on his forearms until he managed to get underneath the comforter. Once he adjusted his legs beneath the covers and settled against his pillow, he pulled Yuuri into his chest. The man was already half-asleep, but he burrowed into him, fingers splaying over his stomach. Viktor closed his eyes, more than pleased with the evening’s events.

 

Hands shoved him awake.

It took Viktor a second to understand. Yuuri thrashed, fighting in his sleep. He shook his head, trying to wake up. It was still dark outside. “Yuuri,” he hissed, grabbing at his hands to stop the onslaught of attacks. “Yuuri, wake up.” He caught one of his wrists, shaking him gingerly. “It’s just a dream,” he tried again. “Wake up, Yuuri.”

“No! Don’t touch me!” He screamed, jerking, and finally, waking up. He shot into a sitting position, and Viktor felt stunned. Yuuri glanced around the room hastily.

“It was just a dream, Yuuri,” Viktor soothed, reaching out to touch him, but Yuuri flinched away from him. Warily, Viktor used his forearms for leverage to push into a sitting position. “It’s okay.”

“No it’s not!” He lashed out, shaking. “Why did you—” His voice cracked, and Viktor felt his insides lurch. Oh god. He paled, uncertain of what Yuuri remembered, if he remembered anything at all.

“Yuuri, let me—”

“Don’t come near me!” He shrieked, shoving at the sheets that covered him until his feet hit the floor. In his haste, Yuuri knocked the wheelchair out of arm’s reach of the bed. He retrieved his clothes from the floor without giving it any notice.

“Yuuri, I’m—”

“I don’t care,” he cried, donning the old clothes in a rush. He stumbled to the door, forcing his arms through sleeves and his feet into socks.

“Yuuri, wait. Please,” Viktor begged in a panic.

“I can’t do this—I can’t.” He crammed his feet into his shoes, not even bothering with lacing them. “I’m not going through that again. I can’t go through that again.” He pulled opened the door, taking off down the hallway. The soles of his shoes clacked against the hardwood, and Viktor cursed, trying to move quickly.

“God damn it,” he hissed, his legs hindering him. He grabbed at the mattress, hauling himself to the edge and trying to get a hold on his chair. He overextended and fell hard onto his shoulder. “Fuck!” He dragged himself to the chair, fumbling as he tried to get into the seat. This is taking too long, he thought, failing and pushing the wheels away from him in his rush. He crawled to them and pushed them back against the bed. He heaved against the seat, finally perched onto the damned thing.

He rolled himself out of the room and down the corridor, pushing hard against the wheels. He threw open the door to the mansion, but all he saw were footprints in the snow. “Yuuri!” He called, forcing himself over the threshold, half-naked and freezing. He didn’t care. “Yuuri!” He shouted again, but only the wind howled back at him. He shoved his weight against the wheels, but the chair wobbled unsteadily, threatening to tip him.

He glared down at the useless flesh, fists beating against the wheels in frustration. He pursed his lips, gritting his teeth. The cold seeped into his bones, and his lower half seemed to turn purple as he stewed in his incapability. He was gone, and Viktor only had himself to blame. He forced himself to go inside, the darkness of the clouds rolling in mirroring his mood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Under the Marxist-Leninist doctrine of state atheism in the Soviet Union, after its foundation in 1917, Christmas celebrations—along with other religious holidays—were prohibited as a result of the Soviet anti-religious campaign…With the Christmas tree being prohibited in accordance with Soviet anti-religious legislation, people supplanted the former Christmas custom with New Year’s trees.] “New Year Tree.” Wikipedia. Wikimedia Foundation, 29 Jan. 2017. Web. 09 Feb. 2017.


	5. Mourning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s chapter five! Thank you all for your support! I’m really happy to have all of you reading this.
> 
> *Please read the updated tags.
> 
> **Yuuri’s past is dark, okay?

Yuuri slogged through the snow, clutching at the suit jacket to hold it closed as his footsteps crunched through the wet mess. This was the only way. He had to distance himself. He heard Viktor screaming his name, but he tramped down the drive, running on pure adrenaline.

_He_ held him down, his palm crushing his windpipe as he shoved inside of him. He shook his head, though the phantom tear forked up his spine. Yuuri yelped, tripping and collapsing in the frigid crystals that blanketed the ground. No…just a dream, he tried to convince himself. His cheek stung, and it took him lifting his face from the ground to know it wasn’t from being slapped. His hand grasped at the snow, burning from the cold, pushing up to his knees. Viktor wasn’t _him_ , but Yuuri had spent years with _that man_ before he began touching him…torturing him.

He swallowed hard, breath coming in short bursts. Don’t think about that, he chastised, knuckles turning white. His body ached, shaking uncontrollably as the wind permeated the soaked through material. He thrusted against the ground, stumbling to his feet. His eyes pricked, a sudden warmth freezing instantaneously on his face. He’ll hurt me, too. His chest tightened as his lips pulled down to stifle the sob. I shouldn’t have come here. His heart throbbed, and his hand gripped the jacket until he couldn’t feel his fingers anymore.

“Not going back.” He said it out loud, as if to strengthen his resolve, cracking his lips in the process. The wind attacked his face, and he bowed his head to keep the chill off as much as possible. He was close to the main road. His feet shuffled heavily, the movements slowing as the northern air seized at him. He could make it to town. All he needed to do was keep going.

“If you’re waiting for a car, not many come through here this late.” Yuuri hadn’t noticed the speaker, too caught up in his head to entertain the idea of someone actually being at the end of the drive. He took several steps back, swiping the back of his hand over his eyes hurriedly to better see who it was. A man in dark clothes took a lazy drag on his cigarette, the smoke curling away on the wind. He tensed, recognizing the hat he wore. Dread saturated his emotions, a pit forming in his stomach as a new fear overtook him. “Honestly, I didn’t think you’d be this stupid.”

“Excuse me?” He didn’t know why he said it.

“When I saw you with _Vitya_ I thought I was seeing things.” The stranger spat the name distastefully, dropping the cigarette into the snow. Yuuri watched its descent, the wind howling in his ears. He shivered as the cold passed through him. Run, a voice hissed insistently. Instead, he lifted his gaze to meet the unfriendly eyes that glared at him from beneath the rim of his hat.

“Then I saw you again, and seeing you at the party tonight. Well, everyone had their eye on you.” He took a measured step towards Yuuri. Sweat beaded along the back of his neck, dropping his temperature further. “I didn’t think you’d actually come out alone.” He took another step forward, the predation alerting Yuuri to maintain the distance between them.

“I’m—I’m just out for a walk,” he lied, heart seizing in his chest as he watched his movements. “I-I’ll be missed.” He inched back, his throat suddenly dry. Would he really be missed after running from him? A pang went through his chest, Viktor’s desperate attempts to make him stop.

“That’s exactly what I’m counting on,” he breathed, getting closer. Yuuri worked to keep their proximity from increasing further. The man reached out, fingers shy of brushing his face. “I’ve been waiting for a chance to get back at _Viktor_ for a long time.” Yuuri stumbled backwards, the implications plain in his eyes. He flashed a twisted smile, perfect teeth glinting between his lips, as if _he_ smiled at him. The man caressed his cheek, and reflexively, Yuuri’s open palm connected with the man’s face.

Horrified, he scrambled, hastily turning his back to the unknown man. He needed to run to the mansion, to safety, to—

Fingers tangled in his hair, yanking hard. Yuuri gasped, his two hands barely covering the one. He dug his nails into the man’s wrist. The man didn’t let go. His free hand tore one of Yuuri’s from his wrist, forcing it behind his back. Yuuri cried out, not strong enough to wrest his arm back. The man’s grip tightened, the back of Yuuri’s hand touching between his shoulder blades. He pulled on his hair, exposing Yuuri’s neck.

He felt his hot breath against his ear. “Don’t try to run, _Yuuri_ ,” he whispered. Yuuri whimpered as a sharp pain shot through his shoulder as the man dragged him towards the road. He tried to sag in his hold, but the man jerked him up, the action tearing at the muscles around his rotator cuff. Yuuri bit through his lip trying not to scream, the burning sensation blinding his senses. He had to keep fighting.

“Stop it!” Yuuri sobbed, digging his heels into the snow. Again, he yanked his arm up, the awkward angle making Yuuri cry out. “Please!” The man let go of his hair, and Yuuri threw his head back. He felt it land against something, and the man groaned. His grip slackened, and Yuuri wrenched himself free.

He ran, feet numb from cold as he pushed hard against the less than ideal surface. His shoulder was on fire, and he only exacerbated it as he moved. He had to get back to the mansion. Something heavy collided with him, taking him to the snow. His face rubbed harshly, the tiny crystals scratching at his already raw face. A hand grabbed the back of his head, lifting it up before slamming into the ground. His nose gave a sickening pop before it crunched a second time against the driveway.

The sudden shock of pain left him feeling feverish. Blood poured down his face, its deep color soaking the snow. His head fuzzed, black blurring the edges of his vision. For a moment, he felt the sweat dripping from his brow, and then, he passed out.

 

Frustrated, he wheeled back down the hallway. Yuuri wouldn’t be able to get very far on foot, especially not with the snow picking up like it was. Wind whipped in his ears as he pushed himself too fast down the corridor. Gradually, he slowed, trying not to topple over in his haste to get to his room. The chair still teetered when he came to his stop, turning to thrust over the threshold. He reached down on the floor, picking up his jacket, and tearing his phone from the inside pocket. He unlocked it, tapped contacts, favorites, Dmitry. He answered, half-asleep.

“Viktor, what—”

“Mitya, he’s…I…please. I can’t go after him by myself.” His voice came out in a rush, shaking. He didn’t realize how unsteady he was by what happened.

“Who—it’s four in the morning,” Dmitry whined, protesting the rude, post-revel awakening.

“Yuuri’s gone,” Viktor said plainly.

“How—”

“Never mind that,” Viktor snapped, his grip tightening on the phone. Dmitry waited, and Viktor ground his teeth, trying to compose himself. “I need your help. Please.” He repeated the word, feeling the helplessness that came with it.

“I’ll be over with the car in a few.”

 

Yuuri woke up to pitch black, his nostrils assaulted by a distinctively sour smell. The acrid taste filled his mouth, and he gagged, coughing as the slight action scratched his raw throat. He lifted his head, attempting to stretch out, but the back of his head met resistance. Pain blossomed as it touched the barrier, the area tender and matted as something oozed into his hair. His bare feet flattened against another wall. He lay on his side, knees to his chest, his stomach churning uncomfortably. He made to stretch out his arms, but an intricate lattice work of rope strapped them to his torso. He shoved with bound feet, a dull thud sounding. He scrunched in on himself before unfurling, straining his body weight against the edges that contained him.

They didn’t budge. His heart raced. His breathing quickened. What happened? Where was he? He kicked out, once, twice to no avail. The exertion left him dizzy, and his stomach protested the movement. He shifted his efforts to the ropes, but they bit into his flesh as he struggled, burning his skin. He whimpered, the braids cutting deep enough he felt fibers congealing with his blood. _Wham!_

Yuuri screamed, the box shaking from an attack on the outside. “Shut…up.” A low, silky voice commanded lazily. Yuuri froze, eyes widening as he stared into the darkness. Slowly, realization of where he was dawned on him. He spent time in the box once before this. Jerome promised to be back after a couple of hours, and when he did, Yuuri didn’t know if he had been true to his word or if he had abandoned him for days.

Time was all wrong in the dark confines, and the minutes stretched on without reprieve. He remembered when Jerome delivered him from the solitary imprisonment, sobbing out of shame for being unable to stop bodily functions. Jerome bathed him, lips against his ear, telling him he didn’t mean it. He dried and dressed him, brushing out his shoulder-length hair with care. He fell asleep with him, all the while pressing soft kisses to his head in penance for leaving him. That was before he started hurting him, before he learned what lies were. “I’ll b-be g-good. You d-don’t have to l-leave m-me in he-ere,” Yuuri croaked, pain radiating from his esophagus. A wave of nausea rolled over him. Tears stung in his eyes. He bit his lower lip, trying to stifle the sob that clawed at his throat. Outside, his captor clicked his tongue at him.

“You know I have to do this, Yuuri. You broke our rule. I have to hold you accountable.” He lilted, an unsuppressed grin filling each word with perverse color. He heard something sliding over the surface of the lid, and Yuuri imagined Jerome’s hand moving back and forth, as though to soothe him.

“I-I w-won’t d-do it again. P-please.” He tried to appeal to his kinder side, the part that Yuuri grew dependent on through the twisted game he played. He doesn’t mean it, he thought, desperately hoping he would free him. Another, quieter voice chased it, dousing the will to hope. He does mean it. You were a bad boy. You made him angry. You ruined such a pretty rug.

“Unfortunately, I can’t take your word for it. You did wrong. I have to teach you a lesson. Say ‘thank you’ for me being so kind to do this.” His patronizing tone sang, and Yuuri mumbled, “Thank you, sir,” just loud enough for him to hear it. Jerome chuckled under his breath.

“No one ever means to be sick, Yuuri. But you should have said something. Now, I have to find a new rug to replace the one you destroyed.” He tried to tell him. He said he wasn’t feeling well, but Jerome ignored the protests he made, telling him to undress. Tears leaked out from the corner of his eyes, nose dripping as he let out a high-pitched whine. “If you cry, you’ll only make it worse for yourself. I’ll be back in a few hours. Perhaps, that will be enough time for you to understand your actions.” His fingertips brushed over the box as he withdrew.

“Don’t go!” He shrieked in a panic. “Please; it hurts…it…hurts,” he sobbed hoarsely, unable to fight it anymore. Footsteps clicked against the tile, and Yuuri wailed inside the box until his ears rang. He had to breathe through his mouth, his nose completely congested in a matter of seconds. His stomach clenched, and he dry heaved, choking on tears. He coughed harshly, shaking as his breaths turned to pitiful whimpers. He was disgusting. He deserved to be locked away.

 

Viktor ended the phone call, the news not what he wanted to hear. He slammed a fist on the table, silverware clinking as they bounced over the surface. No one had found him. They searched all day, but nothing. Aleksei flinched but didn’t say anything. In fact, the teenager shoved away from the table, abandoning his half-eaten plate of take-out to leave the dining room. “Alek,” Viktor started. He forgot he wasn’t alone. The boy leveled a flat stare at him. He barely met his gaze, soft azure, stormy with questions that Viktor couldn’t answer.

“What did you do?” It was rhetorical at this point, after Viktor’s multiple refusals to admit what occurred. Aleksei’s hands balled into fists, breaking eye contact to glare at the floor. “I know something’s wrong. Mama’s locked herself in her dance studio, and Papa…hasn’t come out of his office once.” Viktor noted the change. “I’m not a child.”

“No one said you were.” Aleksei met his eyes again, tension throughout his body. He was the same height as Yuuri, but healthier. He had no trouble meeting Viktor’s eyes, like Yuuri did. He didn’t have the bruising from lack of sleep under his eyes. He didn’t hate Viktor, but he would if he knew the truth.

“You’re all treating me like one. Yuuri’s gone, and no one’s talking about it.” Viktor watched as he crossed his arms, hands still in fists, his expression darkening.

“Alek—”

“No! Who was that just now? What did they say? Your phone has been in your hands since I got up this morning.” Aleksei paused, taking a breath, steadying his voice so he wasn’t shouting anymore. “You’re worried about this. Mama’s worried, too. She did the same thing when you went missing.” That caught him off guard. Has he always been this perceptive, Viktor wondered.

“You remember that?” He questioned tentatively. “That was…twelve years ago.”

“Yes! Dmitry played cards with me all night and told me you were at an academic tournament. You came home with a bruised face and said you got into a fight.” Viktor gritted his teeth. He barely remembered that night, probably due to the concussion he received. The people he met with that evening decided to renege on their deal, putting Viktor in a tight spot that required involving Jasper. Viktor took a steadying breath, realizing that there was one place they hadn’t thought to check. He texted Dmitry discreetly, not wanting to upset Aleksei further.

“He’s my friend, too.” Aleksei dropped his arms, his voice barely above a whisper. “Please tell me. Is something bad going to happen to him? Is that why he came to stay with us?”

 

Yuuri stirred slowly, head hazy. Memories of the box came rushing to him, and he thrashed violently, fearing the worst. His legs were mobile, and metal clinked as he jostled his arms. He forced himself to lie still and assess his situation. He was on a cement floor. He wasn’t twelve. He was twenty-four. He was still tied up, but _he wasn’t in the box_. His breathing slowed, and he slumped against the ground, hissing as his shoulder protested the weight. The skin above his lip felt tight and cracked as he groaned, his nose throbbing.

He went through it in his head, the stranger attacking him and breaking his nose. He wanted to get back at Viktor for something. He wanted to use Yuuri to do it.

“Good morning.” It wasn’t a cheerful voice. There were footsteps, followed by the blindfold being torn from his face. He blinked, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the lighting. If it was morning, the basement the stranger held him in didn’t corroborate his claim. A single bulb hung loosely from the ceiling, the warm yellow glow eerie. He flinched away from the man, not getting very far, handcuffed around a steel beam.

“I can’t wait to see how Viktor reacts.” Yuuri yanked at his wrists, trying to create some distance between them. He shut his eyes tight as fingers traced the outline of his cheek, exposing his neck as he strained to stop the touch. “When he sees what I’ve done to his precious _Yuuri_.”

“He’ll kill you.” The words tumbled from his mouth, but even as he said it, he didn’t believe it. His fingers disappeared, and Yuuri smiled in relief. His touch made his skin crawl. The man’s shoes scuffed against the ground, and the toe of his shoe jammed into his abdomen. Yuuri curled in on himself, wheezing, eyes watering. The man’s second kick landed against his shin, and Yuuri bit back a whimper, feeling the bone bruise. The scab on his lip broke, and the metallic liquid washed over his tongue.

“Look at me,” he hissed, another kick aimed at his forearms. Pain jolted his system, and he cowered further, trying to protect his broken nose from more damage. The stranger’s fingers dug into his hair, dragging him up by the strands. Yuuri yelped, his hands being forced away from his face to support himself at the awkward angle. Some strands gave way and parted with his scalp, but not enough for the man to lose his grip. “I said look at me,” he growled, shaking him. Yuuri flinched, smelling the last meal the man had on his lips, trying not to gag at its fishiness. Tears threatened to fall down his face, but something inside of him snapped. I’m going to die here, he thought, a nervous laugh bubbling through his pursed, bloodied lips.

“He’ll kill you,” he repeated, opening his eyes, meeting his captor’s gaze. They were empty words, full of bravado and the nervous insanity felt when faced with death. The man stared back at him. He was older, several set-in lines around his eyes, especially where his brows furrowed. His tan eyes had gold dispersed through them and a greenish rim around the iris. They were hard and betrayed no emotion.

“I’m sure he’ll try.” He dropped him, and Yuuri grunted, hands scraping against the stone, small flecks digging into his flesh. “But Jasper’s not going to let his faggot of a nephew kill me.” Yuuri stayed down, working through the new information. Viktor wasn’t his son? “He’s wanted you gone for months.” The stranger paced over the floor, the heels of his black loafers clacking against the surface. He faced Yuuri, squatting down to stare coldly at him. “Funny. Viktor got into so many fights to defend his honor. I think he killed a man over it when he had his long hair.” His hand stretched out, intentionally catching a lock of Yuuri’s raven hair between his thumb and forefinger. He rolled the strands between the digits, twisting it idly. Yuuri flinched back, but the man released his hair and caught his face in one hand. His fingers tensed around Yuuri’s jaw, bruising the delicate skin as he turned his head left and right. Those hazel eyes scoured his face before boring into his soul. They seemed manic.

“You are pretty. Or I guess, you were.” The stranger snorted a laugh, but Yuuri didn’t care about his face.

“Jasper’s behind this?” Blood splattered from Yuuri’s lips, into the stranger’s palm. His brows furrowed, and the lines in his face became more pronounced as he glared. Yuuri yelped as the pressure on his jaw increased, the bout of courage gone from his system. He shoved his face into the concrete, not answering his question. The hand shifted its leverage, a crushing force on Yuuri’s cheek.

“I can’t wait to see his face,” he growled, the weight causing his head to ache. “He stole _everything_ from me.” His thumb hooked over his philtrum. His fingers tensed on his cheekbone and jaw. The man raised his face from the floor, and swiftly slammed it in a furious rage against the pavement. Stars exploded in his vision, and his eyes rolled. Nausea hit him as he groaned, and his captor released his face. Dizzy, he laid there, something wet pooling into his hair. “Now I’ll take something from him.”

 

Viktor stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep. The conversation with Aleksei replayed, the half-truths that came out of his mouth as he created issues that led to Viktor bringing him home. Aleksei had understood, not knowing the particulars from Yuuri. As cagey as Yuuri was with him, Viktor assumed the younger man circumvented any prying questions Aleksei had. It didn’t alleviate the guilt he felt for letting Aleksei believe that it was _Yuuri_ that had the rough situation. Viktor sighed, shutting his eyes. It wouldn’t matter if they didn’t find Yuuri soon.

A sharp, splitting tone jerked him upright. He fumbled, tearing the phone from its charger. “Dmitry?” He answered, waiting for his friend to answer.

“Nikolai hasn’t reported in,” he murmured on the other end. There was an edge to his voice. Viktor didn’t want to suspect him. Viktor knew Nikolai since the accident that killed his parents. The man from his memory was a peacekeeper. He was one of Jasper’s trusted friends until the night Viktor went missing, trying to complete the deal he man orchestrated with the Italians of New Jersey. He honestly thought trade agreements could be made with their rivals. The naïve mistake dealt him a heavy blow, and Viktor didn’t know the full extent of what happened after Jasper saved him. “I’ve got the doctor and Riviera with me.” Viktor figured that was why he heard soft voices in the background. “Jasper’s already given the okay. I thought that you’d like to know before we go in.”

“Yeah.” His throat was dry. This was their last shot—if he didn’t have him that meant Yuuri was gone.

 

Knuckles struck over his cheekbone, pain shocking his system awake. His head lolled to the side, and blood dribbled over his cheek. It dripped onto his bare shoulder and slid down his chest, mingling with the ropes that bound him. He sagged in them, unable to fully support his weight. His arms were tied behind the back of the chair, his legs wrapped tight to the chair’s. He coughed, his injuries becoming focal points to help him clear his head. Slowly, an eye opened blearily. How long had it been? He wasn’t sure, the whole of his head throbbing as he examined his contused skin.

“Still alive,” the man mused. Yuuri pulled weakly against his restraints in response. This wasn’t his first beating. “No matter.” Yuuri paused, glancing at him with one eye, sluggishly realizing the other was swollen shut. The man unfolded a pocket knife as he asked, thumbing the blade to check the sharpness. Yuuri swallowed hard, his blood mingling with his saliva. Don’t think about it, he tried to soothe and shut down his mind. _“It won’t hurt, Yuuri.”_ His body thrust back, ankles straining against the ropes. His toes spread as his wrists wrenched back, his weakness fading in the wake of his fear. It did hurt. It stung as the cold metal broke his flesh on his chest and his arms. He didn’t want to feel that again.

“I must admit, I didn’t expect you to last this long.” Yuuri drew his knees in as much as he could and threw what little weight he had into the chair to make it travel backwards. His brain supplied the memories of the shallow cuts that teased at his collarbone, the infinitesimal punctures that threatened the ever-present blue veins inside his elbows. His captor approached him unhurriedly as Yuuri fought violently in his restraints.

“Life as a plaything for others must be difficult.” He advanced with measured steps, and Yuuri twisted in the chair, the ropes chaffing his flesh. The man drew nearer still, an amused expression on his lips. “Stop. Or I’ll end it now,” he hissed, closing the distance. He extended the knife, brushing his neck with it. Yuuri shivered, hair raising in alarm.

“Then do it!” Yuuri challenged, the real possibility of mutilation spurring him. Sweat and tears streaked his face as he pressed his neck closer to the sharp edge. He’d rather die than have him hack into his flesh. They stared at each other for a moment before a muffled sound of wood splintering cut the silence. His captor’s eyes flicked up to the ceiling as dull thuds moved overhead. The knife scraped his skin as he pulled back, cautiously stepping out of his line of sight. Yuuri tried to follow his movement, craning his neck to look over his shoulder. His position limited his vision, the exertion causing black dots to appear.

“Nikolai,” a voice finally called out after the traipsing footsteps came to a halt. Yuuri didn’t know who it belonged to, but his kidnapper cursed quietly. What did that mean? Yuuri couldn’t focus, watching as his captor stepped beneath the stairs, out of the light. A door creaked open, and one set of heavy boots clunked down the stairs behind him. That person gave a strangled cry after ten steps, and Yuuri only heard him tumble to the concrete floor. Yuuri flinched, imagining how his body crumpled at the foot of the staircase. The man groaned, a string of harsh words in Spanish coming out of his mouth. Yuuri listened intently as two short, metallic clicks were followed by an earsplitting bang. He shut his eye, more heavy footsteps descending to the basement and another shot ringing out.

The noise reverberated in his ears, and he couldn’t hear anything but the long tone. He, however, felt the ominous presence loom behind him, making his blood run cold. His hearing adjusted, someone stalking towards him while another person hissed in pain. He tried to shrink in place, the smallest whimper escaping his lips.

The ropes slackened.

He lifted his head, glancing blearily at a tall, sinister blond man. He wore a grimace, but otherwise seemed unscathed. Yuuri stared at him in bewilderment. I’m…saved? Yuuri watched numbly as the man knelt, freeing each limb of his body from the chair’s framework. His ankles were red, rose patches of blood beading beneath the surface of his skin. His chest was sore, and his shoulders ached from the prolonged, awkward position. His wrists saw the most damage, crusted with dried blood, raw from struggling. The man then stood and shrugged out of his overcoat, proffering it to Yuuri.

“Put it on,” he commanded, voice even. Yuuri took it, but his hands could hardly hold it. Shakily, he leaned forward as he wrapped it around his bare torso. His fingers curled tightly, pulling the jacket closed as he prepared himself to stand. Hesitantly, he put weight on his feet, which immediately flared in pain as though he stood on a bed of nails. He gritted his teeth, letting out the barest grunt to force himself to stand despite the painful tingling. His legs cramped, the muscles of his calves convulsing at the sudden movement. His toes scrunched as his knees wobbled before buckling beneath him. Dmitry caught him, and without asking, lifted him into his arms. Yuuri wanted to protest the princess carry, but he didn’t have the strength to argue.

It was then he caught sight of his captor’s body, blood seeping into the pores of the concrete beneath him, the knife loose in his fingers. He looked away hastily. He didn’t need to add another body to his memory, at least, not in great detail. Another set of footsteps hurried down the stairs, a woman with short, brown hair and glasses.

“Christ—”

“You were supposed to wait in the car,” the man at the foot of the stairs grumbled. He held his ankle tightly, red seeping between his fingers. She leveled him with a glare.

“I did wait in the car, _amado_. But then, I heard gunshots. _Bang! Bang!_ There wasn’t supposed to be ‘bang bang’.” She glowered at him. “So, naturally, I came in to find you.”

“ _Mi amor_ , the car was much safer.”

“Safer, ha! And keep me from doing my job, _cabrón_? Maybe, I should let you bleed out. Maybe, you will remember that I’m not fragile.” She hurled her response at him as she descended the stairs, and the man paled.

“Aye,” he agreed, backpedaling as he clicked his tongue. “ _Lo siento_ , Melinda,” he apologized, but his words didn’t placate her. She stepped _on_ his ankle, making the man shout as she made her way to them.

“Put him back on the chair, Dmitry. I need to look at him properly,” she instructed, pointedly ignoring her lover’s choice words as he howled in pain. Yuuri’s brain slowed as the adrenaline wore off, his weariness catching up with him. Fingers snapped in his ear, jolting him. “Don’t sleep,” she insisted, standing on tiptoe. He blinked owlishly at her, too groggy to respond. Dmitry jostled him, but Yuuri just wanted to sleep now that he was sure it was okay.

“Oi,” she hissed at him, and she smacked his face in quick succession. The hits didn’t hurt, their intention meant to only jar him.

“What?” He slurred, too worn to protest louder or more coherently. She forced open his swollen eye, the sudden light nearly blinding him. He stared at her as she examined it, but she released it. Her fingertips scaled his face, tracing his jaw, cheeks, nose, forehead, and scalp.

“Just the nose…Dmitry, hold his shoulders.” A heavy weight held him down, but Yuuri didn’t fight it. “I’m resetting your nose. On three…” She felt over the bridge of his nose, and he winced visibly, the area still tender. She placed her thumbs on either side of his nose, brushing along the edges of the bridge. “Three.” Her thumbs jammed against the bone, popping it. Yuuri cried out, eyes watering as he strained against Dmitry’s hold.

“Look at me.” He did, unable to disobey her. “I need to do it one more time, okay?” Again, she put her thumbs against his nose. She rubbed them down the length with the slightest pressure. He tried to prepare himself. “Three,” she whispered and squeezed her thumbs into his skin. His nose popped again, and Yuuri let out a wail, tears streaming down his face. Her thumbs massaged down his nose, smoothing out her work.

“There, good as new.” Dmitry’s hands left his shoulders. “Yuuri, how are you feeling? Any nausea, dizziness?” His brain worked furiously, thoughts at a crawl.

“Tired,” he croaked, her brown eyes smiled at him.

“I know, but you can’t sleep yet. I have something in the car that will help you with that.” He whined, but she placed a hand on his, petting it gently. She’s a doctor, he realized belatedly.

“Not sick. Vision…fuzzy,” he managed to string together a couple more sentences, but that was it. She seemed satisfied with his answers.

“All right. Dmitry, take him to the car. I’ll grab Hector.”

“Thanks Doc,” Dmitry told her as he lifted Yuuri into his arms.

 

In the car, the doctor supplied Yuuri with painkillers as well as a shot of norepinephrine, and by the time they arrived back at the Nikiforov Manor, he was fully alert. Under his own power, he stepped from the vehicle, into the snow, Dmitry’s coat dragging over the slush. Dmitry walked beside him, opening the door for him. He went inside, snow melting onto the hardwood. Dmitry shut the door, following him closely. A hand pressed against his back, guiding him towards the staircase.

“I-I’m tired. I’m just going to rest.” He side-stepped, but Dmitry took hold of his upper arm.

“Jasper would like to have a word with you, first. _Come with me_.” Yuuri paled, eyes shifting nervously between Dmitry and the stairs.

“I-I’m not supposed to go up there!” He shouted, the high volume a result of his fear.

“It’s an exception,” Dmitry told him flatly, urging him along, undeterred in his mission. Yuuri yanked at his arm, resisting. He wasn’t ready to remember this. He wasn’t ready to see _his_ face. He stole back his arm, Dmitry’s grip lacking, and he ran. He only managed a few steps before Dmitry’s arms closed around him, holding tight. He struggled, shoving his bare feet against the hardwood as Dmitry towed him towards the trigger. He didn’t want to go up there. He didn’t want to remember.

“I’m sorry.” The apology caught Yuuri off-guard, the soft expression somewhat wrong on his stern face. The distraction cost him several steps up the staircase.

_The door to his room opened slowly. Yuuri stretched, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes. Jerome’s figure stood in the doorway. Something was off. He was never up this early. “Morning…” Yuuri mewled uncertainly at him, brushing out some of the tangles in his hair. Jerome strode purposefully into the room, expression unreadable. Yuuri froze._

_“Come with me,” he commanded, his long fingers enveloping his wrist. There wasn’t an ounce of warmth to his voice._

_“Where are we going?” Jerome pulled him from the bedding, but Yuuri didn’t fight him. It was easier if he didn’t fight._

_“I grow tired with this. With you.”_

Dmitry didn’t seen the panic in Yuuri’s eyes, and he soldiered on, not knowing the terror wasn’t from the impending meeting with Jasper. Yuuri fought his grip on him, not wanting to relive it, thrashing as his arms were pinned to his sides. Dmitry didn’t flinch when his heels connected with his legs, the memory fully taking hold as they ascended.

_“Please, no…I’ve been good, haven’t I?” He tugged at his wrist, Jerome’s finger tightening around his wrist as he dragged him from his room. “Haven’t I?”_

_“Too good, and now you’re no fun.” Yuuri stumbled after him, Jerome’s long strides causing his feet to catch on the runner._

_“I can do better! Let me try, please!” His voice choked off as Jerome yanked him along. “I…I love you!” He declared, and Jerome stopped at the top of the stairs. Yuuri took the opportunity to grab the front of Jerome’s shirt, eyes searching desperately for the answer he always gave in return. Jerome’s fingers dug into his upper arms, half-crescents bruising into his skin. Yuuri winced, meeting his gaze._

_Obsidian eyes glared down at him through chestnut bangs, full lips drawn into a frown. Yuuri reached out for him, fingers shy of touching his chiseled face. Even angry, with his eyebrows knit together, he was like an angel. He drew him close, and Yuuri saw his reflection in their dark surface. “You don’t get it. I don’t_ want _you anymore.” His eyes widened as he looked up at the only person he had known,_ loved _, and depended on for the last nine years._

_“But I—”_

_“What you want doesn’t matter!” His wrath broke through, and Yuuri felt his stomach drop. With a sudden jerk, Jerome’s hands were no longer on his arms, and Yuuri fell backwards. His mind didn’t make sense of it until his back slammed on the edge of a step. He yelped, tucking in on himself, banging his shoulders and knees as he tumbled awkwardly to the marble floor. Yuuri splayed, face down on the cool surface, breathing heavily. His vision swam when he opened his eyes, his head throbbing. He tried to get up, but one of his arms felt numb, a sharp pain shooting from his elbow._

_“Jerome,_ please _,” he begged him from the floor. What was he without him? He didn’t want to know. The world outside of his grasp wasn’t meant for him. Jerome descended the stairs slowly, smoothly._

_“‘Please’_ what _?” He murmured, coming to kneel by Yuuri’s side. A familiar glint of metal shown in his hand._

_“Please kill me,” he whispered, blinking away the tears as he glanced from the knife to Jerome’s face. His dark expression twisted, a smirk playing over his features._

_“You’re not even worth that.”_

The fight went out of him halfway to the second floor. He remembered how he wandered outside for days, waking up in a hospital with his arm in a cast. A woman in a business suit asked him about what happened and where his parents were. If his parents committed the atrocities on his body. He never answered her, crying when he thought about what he lost.

Dmitry let him go once they were at the top, and Yuuri sank to the floor, the damage done. He looked at his hands, discolored and framed with bloodied wrists. His eyes shifted hollowly to Dmitry, his face a mask of regret and shame. He gestured to the left hallway. “Three doors to the right. I…I’ll wait here.” Yuuri didn’t move, too overcome with the memories.

“Yuuri?” Viktor’s voice carried in the entry. Yuuri blinked, glancing down to the floor below. Viktor pushed into view, and Yuuri clambered to his feet, teetering as he stumbled down the corridor. I won’t, I won’t, I won’t, he chanted, grabbing his head. His fingers tore at his hair, tears streaming down his face. “I _can’t_ …” he whined, the emotional strain too much.

“You can.” Yuuri let go of his hair, head turning slowly to the right. The door to the room was open, a green, stained glass floor lamp casting just enough light to creep out into the hall. Jasper leaned against an elegant desk, sporting a flat-screen monitor and a crystalline paperweight. “Come inside, boy.”


	6. Sentimentality

Yuuri stood there, barely registering his words. Come inside…? His fingers twitched before finding purchase on his elbows. A quiet pressure lingered between them, knowing the right response was to join him in the room. Yuuri didn’t meet Jasper’s eyes as he huddled in on himself, chin dropping to his chest. He opted to take in the office discreetly as he shambled over the threshold, his good eye shifting quickly from one feature to the next. 

A high, wingback chair blocked most of his view of the large window behind it. The glass reflected some of the desk’s contents, the outside hidden by the pitch night sky. Framing the window were curtains, dark emerald, the hue almost black. The cream walls were bare, save for the matching, green damask patterns. Movement in his periphery startled him, and he flinched as Jasper crossed behind the desk. 

“Have a seat,” he told him, Yuuri’s gaze flicking to the man automatically as he gestured to the brown leather chair across from him. His stare fell to the floor just as fast. Would he react like Jerome? Self-consciously, he examined his bare feet as they shuffled over the polished wood. As he focused on the dirt under his toenails coupled with patches of grime left behind by the snow, he fretted. I’m not clean. I’ll ruin it. He glanced from the chair to his filthy body. 

Jasper cleared his throat, making him jump. “Sit down,” he commanded. Hesitantly, Yuuri lowered himself until he perched on the very edge of the seat, minimizing the amount of contact. In the past, a smaller mess meant a lesser beating, a survivable one. Would Jasper hurt him for the trouble he caused? 

“You’ve lived here for three months.” His deep voice resounded in Yuuri’s ears, calm but with an edge to it. “Look at me when I speak to you.” He didn’t want to look at him, afraid of making eye contact with eyes that matched Viktor’s. It mattered, but Yuuri still wanted to deny it. He slowly lifted his head, seeing his combed back hair and steel-blue eyes. Somehow, they didn’t match how he remembered. They seemed to stare through him, cold settling into his chest. Fear clawed up his throat, the oppressive aura pressing him further into the chair. “Without question, I gave you a comfortable life. And as repayment, you ran away.” The inflectionless words reminded Yuuri how much of a burden he was. He invaded this house and spat in the face of its hospitality. “A misunderstanding that escalated due to your carelessness.” He blamed Yuuri, and he had every right. He watched him expectantly. 

“…He said you…wanted me dead.” His voice came out as a rasp, throat dry. “N-Nikolai,” he clarified, the working eye dropping to study the paperweight, a crystalline swan. The prism winked at him in the lamp’s faint light. His stomach clenched painfully, and he fought down a wave of nausea. 

“But here you sit,” he rebutted. Here I sit, he thought, his hands tightening their hold on his arms. He returned his gaze to the head of the estate. “This situation is delicate for me. I love my family, and in three months, you captivated them. You endangered them, twice.” Dread mingled with the uneasiness of his stomach. “I do not know you. I do not trust you.” The air between them stilled with the statement. Jasper placed his elbows on the desk. He laced his fingers, pensively leaning into his hands. He held his gaze for a long pause, and Yuuri  _needed_  to look away, but couldn’t. 

Finally, he spoke. “My son is rarely smart about the things that win his heart. Don’t drag this out longer than need be.” 

“I…don’t…understand,” he whispered slowly, watching suspiciously as Jasper set his steepled hands down on the desk, face the epitome of calm. 

“I allowed you to be retrieved, but if you truly wish to leave, you may do so.” Yuuri’s eyebrows drew together. He stammered, but Jasper spoke over his weak attempts at speech. “Whatever you think you’re here for is immaterial.” He stood suddenly, causing Yuuri to flinch. “You may go.” He faced the window, hands clasped behind his back. Shakily, he rose from the chair. “Oh, and Mr. Katsuki.” Yuuri froze, panic flooding his system. How does he know that? I never told Viktor… He glanced at the profile the man cast, speaking over his shoulder. “Should you decide to stay, you will not leave this house without an escort. I do not want a repeat of this experience.” When he said nothing else, Yuuri took his leave. 

 

The coat dragged over the floor, rustling as he retraced his steps to the foyer. Despite it, he was cold, hands still clenched tight around his arms. Exhaustion weighed him down, his movements sluggish and deliberate as he fought through the fatigue. He glanced at the stairs. It was such a long way down. A hand pried itself free, blood rushing into the fingertips denied circulation. He winced, the acute pain a shock to his mostly dulled senses. His fingers fanned over the banister, curling tight to the railing as he saw himself descend the stairs. 

Except, he just stood there. Frozen and alone, memories of how he fell…how he was pushed coming back to him. His elbow throbbed without warning, and he released his hold on the banister as though it burned him. Timidly, he brought his hand to touch the bone he broke, but as he prodded it, it didn’t hurt. He breathed out through his mouth, trying to steady himself. Just a little further, and I can sleep, he thought as his foot rested on a step lower, this time without the handrail. 

“Yuuri?” He glanced up from his feet. 

 

Their eyes met for a moment, and once more Viktor saw his expression contort before he sank to the step, burying his face into his knees. Viktor gritted his teeth, clenching his fists. He didn’t have the right to do what he was about to, but he didn’t care. Being unable to go to him, having to stay behind, anxiously by a phone; his nerves were shot. 

Determinedly, Viktor pushed himself to the lip of the stairs and reached out to the one nearest his level. His knees slammed against the hard surface, but Viktor didn’t notice, more focused on the pain of his elbows as the edges dug into the soft flesh on the inside of his arms. The angle wasn’t sharp, but as he climbed, they felt steeper, his weight heavier.

He leveraged his weight as he crawled, soft puffs of breath soon became ragged and sweat dotted his brow. His fingers clenched and knuckles popped, straining to hold on as took a breather. When did he get so out of shape? He pushed on, his muscles tired from the exertion. He winced as his skin pulled uncomfortably at his forearms, shoving his body up. He didn’t stop again, though, spurred on by the soft whimpers that broke through his loud breathing. He made a final heave to perch on the top of the stairs with Yuuri, but didn’t wait to catch his breath. He waited long enough. 

His arms, worn as they were, reached out and pulled the smaller man into him, tucking his head beneath his chin. Yuuri didn’t fight him. The smaller burrowed into his chest, allowing Viktor to console him. 

He let out a quivering breath, burying his nose into the unkempt, matted mop on Yuuri’s head. It smelled metallic and dusty, but Viktor ignored it. He needed this, to know he was safe. Slowly, Yuuri calmed, and his hands pushed against his chest. Viktor let him pull back, but he did not let him go, inspecting his face. His eyes were red, and the one that was barely open had deep purple blooming around it. He saw the dried patches of blood around his nose, and that looked swollen, too. His jaw clenched. 

“I…I’m fine,” Yuuri choked out, not meeting his eyes. “I’m…fine.” His voice cracked, obviously not. Tears continued to leak down his cheeks, washing streaks through the dirt and the blood. 

“What did he say to you?” He asked urgently, a hand lifting to turn his face, but he held himself back. He was already so battered, Viktor didn’t want to inadvertently make it worse. 

“Nothing! It…it’s nothing…” 

“Yuuri…” The pressure against his chest increased, an effort to be freed before dropping away altogether. 

“I…I want to sleep. Will…will you let me?” The question had a weight a desperation even though he spoke soft. He… _begged_  him. Viktor swallowed, feeling uneasy. 

“Y-yes,” he answered, relinquishing his hold on him. Yuuri stood, but hesitated on the step, eyes focused on him. 

“But what about—” 

“I can get down.” I got up here, didn’t I? He grimaced a little, the feeling of inadequacy hitting him. Yuuri glanced at the first floor, torn with indecision. “You’re tired. It’s okay.” Yuuri grabbed onto the rail, but didn’t move, still visibly uncertain. “Yuuri…go,” Viktor insisted gently. He listened to that, and Viktor watched him as he hugged the banister on his way down. He only looked away once he entered the hallway towards their rooms. Viktor turned his attention to the corridor, the light that came from Jasper’s office.

His fingers tightened into a fist, but released it. Jasper had already done so much for his sake, and whatever he said to Yuuri, it was within his right to do so. He raised a hand to rub his forehead, smiling a little. At least Yuuri was safe.

 

He littered the bathroom floor with his soiled clothes, and he shied away from the mirror. He didn’t need to see what he looked like, couldn’t bear to meet his gaze as he transitioned to the shower. Steam rose from the tub, and his frozen feet burned as he stepped into the heat. The hot water pelted him, and Yuuri hissed in pain as several cuts became apparent. Yuuri didn’t adjust the temperature as his skin became inflamed, stinging from the scrapes accrued over the few days in captivity. This pain kept him here. This pain wasn’t the emptiness that followed Jerome. 

His eye was the worst of it, pain acute as he tried washing it. The soap aggravated the broken flesh around it, and Yuuri gingerly cupped his hands to splash the fiery liquid over his face. It burned, but it kept his mind from wandering to other things. He kept washing, feeling the scabs and crusted blood loosen in his hair, reddish brown color mixing with the shampoo suds. He scratched over his body, dead skin packing beneath his nails. He kept doing it, fascinated, occupied, marking up his flesh turning it blotchy from the abuse. He stopped when he broke open one of the wounds on his legs. 

He ignored the blood, quickly soaping up his body and rinsing. He turned off the water and wrapped himself in a towel before realizing he’d had to sleep. Did he have to sleep? He didn’t pick up his clothes, mutely returning to his room. The bed was how he left it before the party, pristine. He used the bed to preoccupy himself as he procrastinated getting ready the day of the party. He kept redoing it, obsessively. He didn’t want to go. He couldn’t  _not_  go. 

Without dressing, Yuuri crawled beneath the bed sheets, still wrapped in the towel, comforted by the warmth it provided between the sheets. He didn’t want to sleep, but it was difficult to argue with his body as his eyes fluttered closed, enveloped and safe. 

 

It’s hazy and light, holding his hand. I’m laughing as I wander into the darkness with him. I’m  _enjoying_  being with him. He’s…touching me, holding me. I’m not afraid as his lips drag over mine.

Then, those hands transform to slender fingers, gripping too tight as nails bite into flesh. Bruising pain erupts over my skin as those hands search my body. I see his dark eyes, and I shove at him. Jerome shouldn’t be here, not right now.

I struggle, searching blindly for his hands. Help me… My flesh tears underneath the stress and every passing touch feels like fire as fingers dig into the wounds. Please…it hurts too much. I fight against his hold, but it just gets tighter, deeper. I feel his hands winding up my throat, and I scream.

 

Viktor woke, jerked awake by the sudden, sharp cries of terror that pierced the air. With more practice than previous evenings, he clamored into his chair through the haziness of being only partially conscious. He’d have bruises again, but getting to Yuuri faster meant he’d wake up sooner. He crossed the room to the hall to Yuuri’s door and let himself inside, pushing to the bed where Yuuri thrashed and keened.

Carefully, Viktor reached towards him, taking one of the arms as it nearly hit him. He didn’t hold too tight to him, just enough so he’d know he was there. “Yuuri, it’s a dream,” he told him drowsily. “It’s okay, you’re safe,” he murmured, whispering his name and talking to him gently until he lay still. Viktor sighed, thumb tracing a circle on the inside of his wrist, musing. The first time was the hardest, lying in bed, uncertain if he should go to him. Now, he wondered what happened to give Yuuri these nightmares. What did Nikolai do? Viktor clenched his jaw, his hand tightening unconsciously around Yuuri’s wrist as he thought. 

“Viktor?” His small voice croaked wetly. Viktor looked down at him, releasing his wrist like it burned him.

“Just go back to sleep.” The clipped tone of his words made him wince, but his apology was cut off by one of Yuuri’s own.

“I’m sorry…I want to make them stop…” Yuuri’s voice wavered precariously that sent a tremor of worry through Viktor.

“No, it’s not your fault,” he tried soothing.

“It  _is_  my fault! It’s  _all_ my fault!” The sudden outburst startled Viktor. “I did this! It’s  _my_  fault,” he whined, burying his face into the pillow. Viktor leaned over him, his hands hovering, wary of touching him again and escalating Yuuri’s distress.

“Yuuri, I didn’t mean to—your wrist—”

“I  _hurt_  you…” Viktor’s floundering paused, caught off guard.

“It was an  _accident_ ,” he breathed, stunned. Is that why you’ve been having nightmares? He wanted to ask him, but the soft whimpers drifting up from where Yuuri laid his head made him reconsider. Viktor moved closer, bumping the edge of the mattress with his knees. “Yuuri…if you…need to talk…” He trailed off, unsure of himself. Yuuri sniffed hard.

“Why do you care so much?” He murmured through tears, an underlying anger to his words. His face appeared, and Viktor barely made out how his eyebrows knitted together.

“I don’t like to see you in pain,” he answered automatically, undeterred by Yuuri’s shift in mood.

“Don’t you, though?” The accusation stung, feeling ashamed for the truth. He had wanted that, once, before Yuuri became real to him. The hardened exterior and the emotions that occasionally bled through pushed away that want and replaced it with a need to protect him.

“Not anymore,” he murmured, reaching out to him. Yuuri flinched, and Viktor felt his gut wrench at the action. Still, he _had_ to convey this to him. His fingertips brushed the silky tresses, gentle. “I won’t…I won’t hurt you. You’re safe with me, Yuuri. I’m…” He trailed off, shaking his head, thinking better of the apology. “Before, I didn’t mean to push you so far.” He idly stroked the locks, heart pounding in his chest. “I don’t want you to feel pressured. I don’t want you to feel like you have to stay…if you’re staying for my sake,” he swallowed, his throat uncomfortably tight. “I want you to stay,” he whispered, watching the downy strands slip through his touch, falling lightly against Yuuri’s cheek. “But if you want to go, I’ll respect what you want.”

“I—I need some time…” he answered quietly, shakily. Viktor lifted his hand from his hair.

“O-okay then.” Some of the tension he felt from pouring out his heart eased a little, his throat less tight. He pushed away from the bed. “I’ll be across the hall—”

“Wait…” Yuuri’s voice was strained, like he had a tenuous control over it. He stopped, trying not to have expectations of him. His petite form moved to vacate the spot near the edge. Half-lidded eyes stared at him from the white bedding, a hand vaguely patting the newly opened side of the bed. Viktor didn’t approach. “You…could just stay…for the night, if you want to.” Yuuri cuddled into the pillow, effectively hiding his face.

It was an offer that he hadn’t expected, and he returned to his bedside to take the spot made for him, heart beating loudly in his ears. After adjusting his legs beneath the covers, he lay back against a pillow, surrounded by Yuuri’s scent.

He couldn’t relax; hyperaware of Yuuri’s presence. He didn’t dare to touch him, feeling Yuuri search for a comfortable position. Then, his body shifted closer, and he felt a hand shyly place itself on his bicep. He flinched from the cool fingers against his bare skin, and barely caught a dark eye peering up from the white mass beneath his head. He took a steadying breath before reaching across his chest and squeezing Yuuri’s hand. “I’m here,” he promised him, and Yuuri hummed.

 

Viktor didn’t remember falling asleep, or the fact that he enveloped Yuuri at some point in the night. His nose twitched from Yuuri’s sleep-tousled hair brushing against it. He fought a sneeze, eyes watering a little. He didn’t want to wake Yuuri up while he still held him. In fact, he didn’t want to wake him at all. The light filtering in through the curtains was enough to let Viktor see the features of his face, cast in the glow of sleep.

His bangs mostly shrouded his face, covering his eyes. His petite nose curved delicately, his mouth slack as he dreamed. Viktor examined those parted lips, pale pink and feathered from lack of moisture. He took a breath and extricated himself from being so close to him. Yuuri protested immediately as their cocoon of heat suddenly filled the empty space with cold air.

Hands reached for him, eyes slowly opening, and he recoiled from Viktor as he realized he wasn’t dreaming anymore. A dark blush filled his cheeks, and his dark eyes filled with panic as he pushed away from him and bundled beneath the covers, hiding. Viktor swallowed, tentatively sitting up and touched the lump Yuuri formed. It jumped beneath his palm.

“It’s okay,” Viktor reassured softly as Yuuri burrowed further into the bed. “I’ll go shower so you can get ready.”

 

Yuuri didn’t know how to speak to him now. His cheeks flushed with shame every time that he thought about it. He glanced at Viktor, pouring over the ledger. Viktor must have felt his eyes on him because he looked up, meeting his gaze. Yuuri dipped below his book to avoid his eyes.

“Yuuri, you’ve been doing that since this morning.” Viktor sounded nonchalant as he called him out. Yuuri tuned him out, busying himself with rereading the same passage he’d been on ten minutes. What was he supposed to tell him? That the reason he was half on top of him was because he was like a heater? No, he couldn’t. He still wasn’t over the fact that he _invited_ him to stay the night.

I don’t even know how I _feel_ about that. He just looked so worn out, and I— His eyes widened as fingers curled over the top of his book, pushing it down to reveal Viktor. Yuuri’s heart skipped a beat, and forgetting the book, he shoved his weight back against his chair. It made a soft thud against the wall.

“D-d-don’t do that!” Yuuri exclaimed, shivering as he clutched at his racing heart. Viktor flashed him a coy smile.

“Do what?” Yuuri licked his lips, turning away from him. He hated the self-satisfied smile he had on his face. He hated how hot the back of his neck felt. He brought up his knees, wrapping his arms around them, pouting.

“That… Sneaking up on me,” he answered begrudgingly. He chanced a glance at Viktor, catching the light dim in his eyes and his features shifting to concern. He trained his eyes on his knees quickly, not wanting to get caught.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, a barely audible sigh escaping him. “I can’t do anything right,” he mumbled dejectedly, and Yuuri wasn’t sure if he was supposed to hear that or not. His heart sank, knowing that Viktor wanted him to play along. His stomach churned nervously.

“You can.” He buried his face into his knees, trying to suppress the anxiety and fear welling up inside of him. He didn’t want to cry. “It’s…not—I’m not…” his voice choked off, throat too thick to continue.

“Yuuri?” He swallowed hard, rubbing his face against the cotton sweats he wore. He climbed out of the chair, determined to walk away. “Talk to me,” Viktor pleaded with him. The desperation in his voice froze Yuuri, and he made the mistake of looking at him. He seemed on the verge of tears, too, eyes glittering.

“I—I _can’t_ ,” he gurgled, fat tears rolling over his cheeks. “If you’re like that…like _him_ …I can’t take that—I can’t _be_ that again…”

“Yuuri…” Viktor’s eyes fell, and he reached out to him, warm fingers carefully enveloping his hand. He spoke to the hand he held, reverent. “Just let me be there for you, then.” He glanced up at him through his lashes, and Yuuri’s tears fell more rapidly, heart breaking as tears dripped from Viktor’s lashes onto his cheeks. “Please?” His chest burned, his hand sweating enclosed in Viktor’s. He couldn’t take his eyes off him, eyes mirroring the emotion in his words.

“I’m not worth this…” he forced out thickly.

“You are to me.”

“I’ve done nothing but hurt you…”

“No…you haven’t. You…changed me, Yuuri,” Viktor’s voice turned husky, and heat flared into Yuuri’s cheeks. “I didn’t expect this.” Viktor’s fingers shifted, pressing between his, and slowly settled into place as they laced together. “I didn’t want for anything… I wasn’t lonely…” Yuuri’s grip tightened unconsciously, heart quickening as Viktor spoke. “And the fact that I couldn’t…” Viktor’s fingers tensed, voice strained as he spoke. “I would have come for you, then.”

“You’d have…” he hesitated. Did he want to know? He shivered, trying to imagine Viktor with an air of cold fury. “You’d have killed him, too?”

“If that’s what it took. Yuuri, I will protect you from anyone that would hurt you.”

“Even yourself…” Yuuri bit his lip, but he couldn’t take back the words. His breathing hitched as Viktor released his hand, stifling the sob. Viktor nodded, not looking at him.

“Yes…if that’s what it takes to make you feel safe.” Yuuri’s eyes narrowed, and cross words tumbled from his mouth.

“Stop lying to me. Why would you do any of this for me? Why would you protect me? You’re…you’re beautiful and influential and—and _kind_ to some and threatening to others! I’ve known people like you. I’ve been thrown away by people like you…” Yuuri’s voice broke between breaths. Viktor reached out to him, but Yuuri snatched his hand away. “No! Why? I’m broken…I’m _ugly_ —”

“You’re not—Yuuri, you’re beautiful, everyone loves you—I love you.” Yuuri froze, heart pounding in his ears, cheeks flushed from crying and his nose running. Shaking fingers cradled his hand, and Yuuri didn’t fight him this time.

“You _can’t_ …” he whimpered, not comprehending how this person could say those words to him.

“Y-you don’t have to love me back—I-I don’t need anything else. Just…let me take care of you,” he stumbled, speaking faster than he usually did. Did he really mean it? Yuuri squeezed his eyes shut, more tears leaking out over his cheeks. Is that really…all he wants? He drew in his lower lip, gnawing on it slightly. No one had ever wanted to take care of him unconditionally. Is it really…okay? His fingers contracted in Viktor’s grip, and his attempt at an answer came as a croak. He tried again without success, heat burning his chest. He simply nodded, unable to say ‘okay’.

 

It’s easier this way, Yuuri thought one morning, barely stirring as Viktor jostled the bed. The night terrors weren’t gone, but Viktor didn’t have to cross the hall to wake him when he had one. He didn’t have to do it at all, but any attempt to tell him that died in his throat when he saw how Viktor looked at him. No anger, just an affectionate smile before brushing back his hair tenderly. Yuuri couldn’t remember the last time someone looked at him like that.

It took several nights to get accustomed to sleeping next to him, sometimes not remembering the arrangement they made when he woke. Once, after a particularly vivid nightmare, he thought he was still in the dream, begging Jerome not to hurt him again. Viktor soothed him, stroking his face. “I’m not him,” he promised. “He’s not here.” Yuuri realized that he was right, the rougher palm against his skin contrasting with what he remembered. He reached up, holding Viktor’s hand to his cheek, not wanting to forget if he fell asleep.

After that, he often drifted closer to Viktor in the middle of the night, touching him in some way to know that it was Viktor and not anyone else. Viktor didn’t push, either, never calling attention to it in the morning.

He felt more movement followed by fingers combing gently through his black tresses. Yuuri burrowed further into his pillow, groaning at Viktor’s routine to wake him. 

“It’s time to get up.” 

“No,” Yuuri argued, volume reduced by the soft bedding. Viktor chortled to himself, the weight on his side gradually leaving the bed. Yuuri searched blindly, wanting to keep the source of heat near him. “’s too early,” he mumbled, catching Viktor’s wrist. He wasn’t ready to confront why he always fought for Viktor to stay in bed with him. 

“Noon is ‘too early’ for you,” he retorted slyly, and Yuuri caught the roguish grin he flashed down at him from over the mounds of white. His silvery mane was only slightly disheveled, his bangs falling flawlessly against his forehead while the crystals of the sea softened from teasing to fond. “You slept well,” he added. Yuuri’s heart fluttered uncomfortably, his eyes averting. 

“Did you?” He only asked to keep the conversation going. He knew the answer. He wouldn’t have those bags under his eyes if he slept through the night. Yuuri felt his stomach knot in agitation, feeling guilty for being the cause of his lost sleep.

“Mostly,” he responded light-heartedly. His tone only twisted the proverbial knife. 

“Maybe…you should sleep in your room,” Yuuri began tentatively. He knew how Viktor…felt about him, but he didn’t expect him to stay with him, especially if he wasn’t sleeping. Isn’t it hard—constantly being near the person you…care for? He kept that to himself.

“Do you want me to go?” 

“…N-not really,” he stammered back. Delicate heat cupped the side of Yuuri’s face, and his eyes focused on Viktor, almost too close. The hand fell away as though it realized it was drawing Yuuri in, and Viktor cleared his throat. 

“I do like sleeping next to you,” he admitted tenderly, not pushing. In fact, in his next breath he said, “Feel free to kick me out at any time.” Yuuri smiled a little, feeling the rise of a blush. 

“Stupid…I sleep better with you.” Viktor took that in, speechless for one, dumbfounded moment. Yuuri laid his head on his pillow again, feeling victorious. Viktor was too much to take in the morning. 

“Am I dreaming? Did you just confess something, too?” Yuuri paused, heart seizing in his chest at those words. He said it without thinking, his guard down. Immediately, Yuuri countered, 

“Don’t get used to it.” Viktor chuckled, the sound rough but warm. His face felt too hot, embarrassed for the slip. He didn’t know how to get used to _this_.

“Okay, okay. I’m going to get breakfast; do you want anything?” Viktor’s hand found his, the gesture innocent, his thumb running over his knuckles. 

“No,” he said, loud enough to be heard through the cotton. Viktor’s hand left his, his voice drifting further away. 

“All right. See you in a few.” He already picked up on how Yuuri couldn’t go back to sleep without him. Yuuri moaned into the pillow one more time before pushing up from the bed to follow Viktor.

 

Yuuri sat next to Viktor, staring out at the lake, the blue glittering in the sunlight. Viktor squeezed his hand, and Yuuri smiled slightly at their fingers intertwined. “Good morning!” Sailor announced gleefully. Yuuri jumped a little, turning to watch as she towed Aleksei along while carrying a couple towels. Her frilly, white bikini matched the hibiscus flowers on Aleksei’s black trunks. His smiled wider at seeing them.

“Good morning,” he replied, letting go of Viktor’s hand, who protested mildly. Yuuri ignored him, receiving the towels from Sailor and placed them with the other towels on the table.

“Your braid is nice,” Viktor complimented, and Yuuri studied the fishtail that hung loosely over her shoulder, some wisps of her dark hair curling against her face.

“It’s not my best braid,” she admitted, leaning down to hug Viktor. “But thank you!” She combed some of the stray locks behind an ear. “C’mon, let’s swim! It’s so hot,” she complained a little, fanning herself.

“Sunscreen first,” Dmitry reminded, walking up, sunscreen in hand. He already removed his shirt, showing off teal green board shorts with dark, thin stripes and several yellowing bruises on his chest and arms. His skin had tanned softly since summer began, blond hair still styled short.

“Do I really need it?” She gestured to her glowing, bronze skin. Dmitry gave her a flat look and she sighed. “Okay…” Yuuri watched in amusement as she and Aleksei let Dmitry douse them in the sunscreen. Sailor whooped and took off running, cannonballing into the lake, disturbing its placid surface. Aleksei followed her, successfully splashing her once he entered the water. Dmitry motioned at Yuuri who quickly shook his head and moved back to Viktor’s side.

“I’m good here,” he told him, and Dmitry shrugged, placing the can of sunscreen on the table. He joined the other two, and Sailor screamed before being dunked underwater. Yuuri giggled, their voices carrying.

“Go swim, Yuuri, I’m right behind you.” Viktor nudged him with his elbow, and Yuuri glanced wistfully at the frolicking. Aleksei and Sailor were teamed up, trying in vain to pull Dmitry down into the water. He had one hanging from each arm and waded out further before dunking them.

“If you’re okay with watching…” Yuuri hedged, meeting Viktor’s gaze. He nodded, and Yuuri reached out to squeeze his hand. “I’ll be right back,” he promised, letting go and tearing down the path to the water. He jumped in, shirt and all, making little waves with his entrance. It was cold, but it felt good on his overheated skin. He swept back his bangs when he broke the surface, treading water at he searched for Viktor, hearing his laugh. He waved with both arms right as Sailor’s dainty hands pushed him beneath the surface again. He heard her squeals of delight, and he swam back to the top, coughing up what he swallowed. He squeezed his eyes shut, wiping them clear before approaching the bank.

“Aww, Yuuri, play Chicken with us,” Sailor cooed as Aleksei rose from the depths, her thighs resting on his shoulders. He shook his head, standing up and taking a couple of steps towards the gazebo. Viktor mimed standing, pushing up with support of the table. His legs held him for a moment, and then his knees buckled. He lowered to wooden floor, his eyes wide in disbelief. Yuuri gasped, sloshing the water as he tried running through it.

Once on land, his toes dug into the grass, heart beating furiously as he sprinted. “Viktor—you…” He invaded Viktor’s space, hands clasping hands, their foreheads pressed together. “Can—can you really...?” The question hung, ignoring the hurried movements of the others.

“I… It’s weird,” he answered, and Yuuri felt his emotions stir further. “I never thought I’d miss wiggling my toes.” Yuuri giggled a little, tears falling from his eyes. “Don’t cry,” Viktor whispered, removing one of his hands from Yuuri’s to stroke his cheek. “This doesn’t change anything.”

“It doesn’t?” Yuuri half-whimpered, trying to stop the sudden tears.

“No; I always want you here, with me, remember?” Yuuri nodded, biting his lip. Viktor made that abundantly clear in the last few months, giving reassurances freely, waiting for Yuuri to trust him. He didn’t look at him with pity. He didn’t pull away from him if Yuuri initiated contact. Swallowing his nervousness, Yuuri leaned closer, his breath catching in his throat. Viktor didn’t move, save for the hand caressing his cheek. Hesitantly, Yuuri pressed his lips to Viktor’s. They were soft, the pressure from his mouth returned. Heat filled his cheeks, and his heart fluttered as he pulled back from him. His lips still tingled from the kiss. Viktor gave him one of his devastating smiles, and Yuuri’s heart felt like it was melting. He returned the smile shyly, tightening his grip on Viktor’s hand.

“I love you,” Viktor whispered, and Yuuri’s blush deepened.

“I…I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you. A million thank yous would never be enough to convey how much I appreciate you reading this fanfic. Thank you for your patience. I truly hope you enjoyed this. I hope you can understand why there isn’t a plethora of sex, though I do plan on writing a couple of scenes for you as asides. Thank you again for your support!


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